Asgard's Twilight
by Eleutherya
Summary: It has been said that Asgard will fall. When her old enemy rises again with his sword of fire her doom is near at hand. For ten years that fate has been seen and now, at last, Surtur makes his move. Conclusion to the Surtur Triology (Shadow Over Us, A Flame Forever Burning) and takes place five years after Promises.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

_Odin raised Gungnir again, holding it as a shield between himself and his enemy. _

_Flames were trailing from his armor, from his robes, living rivers of fire that were devouring the Alfather from the outside in. _

_His arms shook as if his staff had become a heavy burden, the weight of centuries of bitter rivalry turning a weapon into a hindrance._

_A roar like wildfire, enraged and consuming, shook the very air. _

_Another assault. Another desperate parry._

_The end was near._

_The Alfather stumbled to his knees, catching himself before he fell, pushing his tiring body up to meet yet another attack._

_But to no avail; the very next blow seemed to shatter the earth itself and drove the Alfather to the ground._

_The enemy was poised above him, ready to kill, ready to bring the downfall of many._

_One more strike. One more sword thrust. That was all it would take. _

_But perhaps there was still hope . . ._

_Odin looked to the shadows where a faint silhouette lurked just out of reach. There, hidden from the sight of the enemy, was perhaps the one thing that could save the life of the Alfather, the lives of the innocents of Asgard, of the Nine Realms._

_A savior . . ._

_Or a traitor._

_An ally . . ._

_Or yet another enemy._

_A shield to defend all that was good and pure . . ._

_Or a sword with which to bring about the end of time._

_The threads of Fate were winding themselves together, twisting and weaving in and out of hope and horror._

_Two futures now intermingled. One of triumph . . . and one of tragedy._

_Both were poised, ready to be cut, or ready to be chosen._

_Fire and Rage roared again, sword raised high, the blow falling._

_Falling._

_Falling . . ._

A terrified scream shattered the vision. It took less than a moment, one horrifying moment, for her to realize the scream was her own.

A large hand clasped her arm so suddenly she started away as if she had been stung. For a moment she struggled against her unseen assailant just as she had struggled to wake herself from the nightmare –

"Frigga, what is it?" a voice demanded.

A strong voice. A comforting voice. One that she knew.

_Odin . . ._

With sobs of relief she let herself collapse into her husband's protective embrace.

For a time there was nothing to say, she because she was too frightened and he because he was too busy calming her fears. He cradled her against him like a frightened child, warding off the lingering clutches of her dream with the warmth of his arms. Frigga cried against his shoulder, for once allowing herself to spend every drop of strength reliving the dream again. If she emptied her sorrows without restraint perhaps they would fade without a struggle . . .

When she had quieted, when her mind and body had ceased trembling from the ordeal, it was only then that Odin pulled away to look into her tear-stained face.

"Frigga, what is it?" he asked again, hands still on her arms.

A shuddering breath seemed to shake her to her soul.

"Asgard is in danger."

Silence.

"My queen, I know it is useless to ask, but what – "

"Do not ask," she admonished, her voice sharper than she meant it to be. "Do not ask me to tell you something that is beyond my power to speak of. I can only say that Asgard . . . that _you_ . . . are in danger."

His good eye was watching her intently.

"The Eye has awoken again." He said this with no fear, with no concern. Only with grim, sorrowful certainty. She nodded.

His brow furrowed in thought.

"If you have seen Asgard in danger, then there might still be time to defend her. Perhaps –"

A loud bang on the bedroom door startled them both.

"Enter!" Odin called sharply.

The large doors swung apart soundlessly to reveal a single palace guard. Immediately the man knelt, armor connecting with the marble floor with a sharp snap.

"Alfather, the Vanguard has just received an urgent message."

His head came up, eyes grim, jaw set.

"Alfheim is under siege."

A wave of cold dread swept over Frigga, and for one horrifying moment she believed she would faint. Blackness seemed to drape itself across her vision, and it was only the strong arms of the Alfather that kept her from swooning.

"When was this message received? Who brought it?" Odin barked.

"The Gatekeeper Heimdal turned his gaze upon Alfheim and saw a great army approaching the fortresses of their king. Fire Demons were rushing towards their strong places, led by one larger and more powerful than the rest." He paused. "It was Heimdal who sent word to us, and now I to you, Your Majesty."

"Summon the court!" the Alfather roared, springing up and away from his frightened wife. "If Surtur has regained his mortal form, we must go to the aid of Alfheim quickly. He must not recapture the Eternal Flame! If once his prize is removed from the Light Elves he will trouble them no more."

"Shall I muster the armies of Asgard?" the man asked expectantly. Odin paused, thinking hard, then finally shook his head.

"No. We must avoid open battle if we can. I will send someone to Freyr's aid." Now dressed and armed, he waved to the guard impatiently. "Go!"

The man saluted, letting the doors swing shut behind him.

The booming echo of those doors was like the toll of doom in Frigga's heart.

Asgard's twilight had come.

She would live –

Or she would burn.


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The faint sense of the bed shifting beneath her and fingers gently touching her hair was what woke Sigyn from a deep sleep. A soft brush against her forehead and cheek made her open bleary eyes. Beside her sat a tall, dark figure silhouetted against the dim light from a lamp somewhere in the room.

She blinked a few times and her husband's face came into focus.

"Loki?" she murmured sleepily. A low chuckle was the response.

"At least you are awake enough to recognize me."

"Only just," she replied, closing her eyes again as he continued to run his fingers through her hair. She half knew that they would likely not open again. "What time is it?"

"A few hours before dawn."

Sigyn was not surprised that Loki had not yet retired for the night. It was a common habit of his and, while she did not quite understand it, she acknowledged his desire to still spend a great deal of time alone. She smiled quietly to herself.

"Have you finally decided to sleep like ordinary people?" she teased. The fingers combing her hair hesitated.

"No," he answered. "I have come to tell you I am leaving."

That DID make her open her eyes, and she stared up at the silhouette above her. She hoped it was only a poorly-made jest on his part, but one glance at his expression quickly dispelled that thought.

"_Leaving?_"

"The Alfather is sending me to Alfheim."

"When?"

"Almost this moment." He clearly was no happier about this news than she was.

"But why?"

"He would not say," Loki murmured, but Sigyn saw he did not quite meet her eye when he said that.

"Loki, please do not keep secrets from me," she rebuked softly. "Tell me what is happening."

There was a long pause.

"Sigyn . . . there is still much that Odin does not know, and we shall not know until I see it with my own eyes -"

"_Tell me_," she insisted, raising herself up on one elbow. There was something horrible in Loki's eyes-

"Alfheim is under attack."

At this, Sigyn felt as if her heart had stopped beating, and she sat up in sudden alarm.

"Loki what-"

"Sigyn, calm yourself," he soothed, holding her shoulders firmly. "There is no immediate danger here. But I must go to . . . help them. Do not ask me to say any more than that."

"But why must it be you?" Sigyn asked sharply, swallowing her last question; she knew her husband would not tell her now who it was that was attacking . . . though in her heart she felt she already knew.

"I can walk the secret paths. Father knows the Elves respect me and will listen with far greater ease than the lumbering behemoth that is Thor."

Sigyn laughed – a brittle, reluctant laugh; even at a time when danger was as close as this, he still tried to make her smile. But she knew the laughter did not reach her eyes because his expression grew worried.

"Speed is of the essence. I will tell you more when I return but for now . . . stay safe. Tell Vali I will be home shortly." He gently kissed her forehead again and moved away.

"Loki . . ." she whispered when he turned to leave, "is it . . . HIM?"

He didn't answer, didn't even turn to face her.

"It _is,_ isn't it?"

"I can say no more than what I have already spoken."

He glanced behind once, eyes sad and terrified and begging forgiveness, before he swept out the door.

* * *

The court clearly was not happy.

It had been long since the Nine Realms had been engulfed in war, and a council such as this had not been held on Asgard for an age. Frigga was therefore not surprised to see several of the delegates with sour, annoyed expressions at having been woken so early in the morning. Messengers had been sent to all of Asgard's allies (except, of course, for Alfheim), bearing with them a message for the kings and queens of those friendly to Asgard's cause to come to the court of the Alfather with all speed. They were even less pleased than those that resided within Odin's boarders at being called to a council that they were told nothing about.

"It is far too early for a council . . ." grumbled a tall man with hair white as the clouds. Njord, King of Vanaheim. He nearly stumbled as he was pushed roughly from behind.

"Cease your whining, Njord," the much shorter, heavily bearded man who had pushed the Vanir chided. Eitri, current ruler of the Dwarves on Nidhavellir. "At least you can be away from your wife for a while."

Frigga saw those already in the Council Hall breath a collective sigh of relief at the realization that cold and cruel Skadi would not be attending alongside her husband.

"But why do I even need to be here?" Njord went on loudly. "Vanaheim fares well! No battles or skirmishes, no droughts or famines. Our orchards still give tribute, so what need does Asgard need with _me? _It is still the time for dreams in my homeland."

"It is prime time for work on Nidhavellir," Eitri pointed out, taking his seat across from Vanaheim. "My smiths may need me soon to inspect the wares. This had better not take long. You bring up a good point, though: where is that self-important pretender Elf King? Shouldn't he be strutting around here too? Or is he too busy prancing about over in his Tree-palace?"

"My son is a fair ruler. I will hear no such slander against him! He governs his people well. Your Realm hardly knows the true meaning of rulership. _Choosing_ their own leader. Preposterous!"

"Will both of you sit down and cease your childish bickering?" another voice snapped, and the cold, imposing figure of Karnilla stepped up to the table. "None of us are pleased to be here at this hour – least of all myself – but the Alfather has summoned us. Even you, Njord, with all your pomp and bluster, dare not refuse an official summons by Odin."

Njord muttered something under his breath that sounded rude, but in the growing noise no one heard him. The Norn Queen turned from him to Frigga, icy curiosity in her dark eyes.

"However, Lord Eitri speaks truly. Why is Alfheim not represented in this council? If Freyr could not come himself he would have at least sent Faradai in his stead."

"All shall be made known to you soon enough, Karnilla," Frigga replied, glancing around the table. Not all were assembled yet . . .

"Well I am inclined to agree with the Dwarf King," Karnilla sneered, slowly sitting down in her place half-way down the table. "Freyr has imposed his self-importance once too often upon the Nine Realms."

"Have care how you speak of my son," Njord growled.

"It is perhaps just as well Loki and Thor are not here," a voice murmured in Frigga's ear. Sif and the Warriors Three had just arrived, and were eyeing the delegates with amused annoyance. "Loki would only antagonize them further, and Thor would threaten to use Mjolnir to beat sense into those three."

"He would not be alone, it seems," Frigga replied. Tyr, the commander of Asgard's armies, was standing at the far end of the table, looking as if he would like nothing more than to bash the heads of all of the delegates together just so there would be quiet. Tyr and Thor had grown to be close friends in the last few hundred years . . . and they both shared the same impatient temper.

Midway down the room, Frigga saw that Bragi had given up trying to keep order between the diverse councilors and had sat down in defeat beside his wife Idunn. Eir was just sitting to Idunn's left, watching the chaos around her with a certainty that a confrontation would break soon.

But the thundering ring of Gungnir on the stone floor quickly drew the room to silence. All eyes were drawn to the Alfather as each delegate reluctantly took their seats.

"Allies of the Nine Realms," Odin began, encompassing all of them with a piercing stare, "you have been summoned to Asgard to respond to a threat that has not been seen in this universe for an age. You asked why Lord Freyr has not been summoned here as well. It is on Freyr's behalf that I have called this council."

There was a long, heavy pause.

"Alfheim is under seige."

* * *

Every realm held secrets.

Some enlightened those that sought them out. Some were dark and dangerous.

And others were simply . . . dark.

Far below the roots of Alfheim's palace city, unnoticed by oppressor or oppressed, a black shadow emerged from the Void.

The figure paused, listening intently. After a moment or two, with a sharp snap of their fingers, a cold green light appeared, its dim glow reflecting in a pair of emerald eyes.

It had been a long stretch of years since Loki had first found this hidden path to Alfheim . . . and longer still since he had need of it.

Distantly he heard the roar of battle echo through the vast city.

Time was short.

He paused, looked about him to gain his bearings, and then strode off into the inky blackness.

* * *

Stunned silence filled the vast hall.

"Who has dared to launch an assault upon the people of Alfheim?" Karnilla broke the silence, her usual haughty expression replaced with concern. "The army of the Light Elves is nearly equal to that of Asgard itself. Who would be mad enough to seek to challenge them?"

"Frost Giants, of course!" Njord shouted angrily. "Jotunheim has long been a thorn in the side of the other realms. I personally find it a pity that Loki Odinson did not extinguish their race long ago!"

"Peace, Njord!" Tyr broke in hurriedly. "Loki's foolish assault on the realm of the Frost Giants has left them broken and powerless. It would take centuries before they could regain even a portion of their former strength."

"There has been no word from Svartelheim for many months now," Eitri broke in, "and it has been commonly reported that Malekith is seeking war against the rest of the Nine Realms. Perhaps it is-"

"What quarrel would the Dark Elves have with my son?" Njord snapped, glaring at the smaller man.

"Five years ago," Odin interrupted, "an enemy penetrated to the very heart of Asgard, veiling themselves within the body of one beloved and trusted by all the Nine Realms. He was seeking that which I had taken from him centuries before, something to add to his strength and allow him to destroy our people. But that which he sought had been hidden from him, taken from this realm and kept safe within the arms of another race."

"Alfather . . . you cannot mean –!"

"Yes," Odin replied, an odd hush settling over the table. ". . . Surtur has returned at last."

* * *

The vanguard was hard-pressed.

Again and again the Fire Demons had thrown themselves at the living walls of Alfheim's defense. And again and again they were driven back down into the shadows they were lurking in. But with each assault the enemy was growing more confident, seeking out the weaknesses of the wall and the soldiers that defended it. Every attack became more violent, more focused, until the elves above nearly trembled in fear, wondering where the enemy would pounce.

Bowstring taut, eyes searching the black depths beneath him, Faradai leaned out over the wall. Weariness such as he had not felt in years was settling into his very bones, aching muscles protesting against constant vigilance. There had been no time to rest since the assault began and now, with the enemy growing more bold with every renewed attack, he had not been able to leave his post for fear of them breaching the wall. Something deep inside him knew that, if help did not come to them soon, there would be no rest for any of them. Ever.

Movement far below caught his attention, and his fingers tensed on the bowstring, arrow ready to fly. A faint glow, like the heat from a smith's forge, flickered in the inky blackness. He leaned over further, straining his already exhausted eyes. There was a moment of breathless silence.

Then the world seemed to explode apart.

Flames hot as the pits of Muspelheim itself roared passed him, forcing him back under the protection of the wall. In the same instant there came a roar of furious voices, a cacophony of rage and hatred and venom, and a wall of Fire Demons appeared on the rampart below them.

There were shouts and cries from the defenders, and a desperate hail of arrows rained down on the enemy. But even the best archers in Alfheim could not hold back this storm. With a rush, Fire leapt over the wall.

Abandoning his bow and quiver, Faradai whipped his sword from its sheath, cleaving the nearest demon's head from its shoulders. There was no time for him to even shout words of encouragement to his fellow elves; the Flames of Muspelheim were spreading too fast.

This was the end. This was Alfheim's final stand, her last defense – alone and abandoned by the rest of the Universe.

Faradai found himself hemmed in by a wall of fire; he could feel the heat on his face, scorching his hands with every blow he gave. He raised his sword again –

A flash of green light, and a powerful blast of ice shot across the wall.

In an instant, every Demon was lifted off its feet and hurled back down into the black depths below –

Faradai raised his head, gazing around in astonishment.

A lone figure stood on the wall, hand raised, cold green fire still flickering over his hand.

Only one being in all of the Nine Realms possessed that kind of magic:

_Loki Odinson._

"Faradai," came the man's calm voice. "Take me to Lord Frey at once."

* * *

"The Eternal Flame."

Sif's voice was quiet and firm and hateful.

Odin nodded slowly.

"I have no doubt that Surtur has learned it is on Alfheim that his treasure resides."

"Then we must go to Alfheim's aid at once!" Tyr burst out furiously. His voice was joined by others, eager to take the war to the forests of Alfheim.

But it was not at the gates of Alfheim that the first blow of war should fall . . .

"Peace!" the Alfather shouted, Gungnir ringing against the stone floor. The chorus of voices stilled, every eye turned to face Odin in expectation. "It was at my bidding that Lord Freyr kept the Eternal Flame safe from Surtur's hands. He has no other purpose in attacking the Light Elves; his precious weapon is all that matters to him in this moment. But that is not his ultimate purpose – he will seek to exact his vengeance on me for his banishment. Asgard is the shining prize Surtur craves. No," he added, silencing the murmur of protest from the council, "the first stroke of war must not fall in Alfheim."

"Then what is to be done?" Fandral demanded, rising to his feet. "You would have us sit here in safety while the blood of Alfheim is spilled needlessly?"

"No, my friend, we shall aid Lord Freyr and his people, as we have always done. But not through arms or force. As I said, the Eternal Flame is Surtur's immediate goal. If once his prize is removed from Alfheim, he will leave them in peace."

"And who will you send?" Sif asked, the eager look in her eyes speaking towards her desire to be chosen for such a task.

"That has already been done; I have sent my son to Alfheim to retrieve it himself."

A collective sigh went up from the assembly.

"That is well," Bragi murmured, glancing for a moment at Sif and the Warriors Three. "Thor will not be easily defeated by the Fire Demon's army."

"Thor is far afield on Midgard. I speak of my younger son."

All the air in the room seemed to vanish in the space of a heartbeat.

"With respect, Alfather . . . _Loki?_" Bragi gasped. "Surely you jest! Considering his history, his . . . inconstancy . . . you think it wise to trust the Trickster with a task of such great importance?"

Odin smiled slightly.

"Alfheim places great respect in those adept at the magical arts. And there are secret ways in and out of the realms that only he has seen and walked. There was none other I would have sent."

* * *

"You are alone."

Loki spread his hands and smirked at the Elf Lord.

"You were expecting more of me?"

Freyr's frown only deepened.

"Odinson makes a jest – but it falls flat in light of the urgency of my request. Why have Asgard's armies not come?"

"The Alfather deemed it unnecessary."

"Unnece-!"

"Peace!" Loki snapped impatiently, "and allow me to finish. Surtur's only reason for coming here was that he learned Alfheim was housing his precious Flame. He has come here to win it back; he has no other purpose."

The anger left Freyr's eyes, and it seemed as if the weight of Alfheim suddenly rested on his shoulders.

"So the Alfather has abandoned us to perish under the feet of Muspelheim." His voice was soft and defeated, hopeless.

Loki bit back the sarcastic reply that sprang to his lips. Now was not the time for games.

"No. The Alfather has sent me to fetch the Eternal Flame back to Asgard."

Frey leaned back in his throne, eyeing the Prince with a dark and doubtful look.

"Surtur will not tolerate defeat; if once he learns the Flame is no longer on Alfheim he will raze this city to the ground in his wrath."

"No, I think not, Frey."

The Elf King's glare deepened.

"Must you speak with such disrespect? Be you an Odinson or no, this is MY realm."

"Only through the Alfather's good graces," Loki smirked. "But if you insist . . . _Freyr_." He placed deliberate emphasis on the final syllable, laughing to himself as a storm of anger clouded the other's eyes. "But we have wasted too much time with council already. If you truly wish to save your people then forget your pettiness and take me to where you have hidden the Flame. Time is running short."

* * *

"Permit me to speak, Alfather," a gruff voice broke in to the conversation, "but I think you do very unwisely."

"In what way, my Lord Eitri?" Odin asked patiently.

"To send your youngest son to Alfheim, into the heart of the battle, and trust him to return with the Flame intact? What makes you think he will not simply deliver it into Surtur's hands instead?"

"My son would never do anything so foolish," the Alfather replied, just a hint of anger in his voice. "Loki is rash and impulsive, but he would not risk the well-being of his own people in that way."

"He has done so before," Sif spoke up angrily. "He risked the wrath of Jotunheim when he attacked without provocation. He led an army of outsiders against the people of Midgard, nearly destroying that realm in the process. And he has repeatedly joined forces with both Malekith the Accursed and several villains of Midgard's making."

"Lady Sif speaks truly," Bragi pointed out. "Loki has betrayed Asgard in the past . . . why should he do any different now?"

"Loki would not risk the safety of his family on any whim as wild as you suggest," Odin replied firmly.

"We do not doubt your confidence in your son, Alfather," Njord said loftily. "It is a credit to both you and Queen Frigga that you would seek to defend Loki on this matter. But the rest of us have no such confidence. Why should we trust him?"

"Because Sigyn trusts in him."

All eyes at the table turned toward the quiet voice that had spoken. Idunn rarely spoke during any of these councils, and only did so when her feelings were so strong they urged her to do so. As a result the council chamber became perfectly silent as the young woman rose to her feet.

"It is well known in every realm that my cousin is not one to place her confidence in just anyone. When she first came here to Asgard, she quickly became a close companion to Loki. Clearly she saw something in the Prince that none of the rest of us could see. And that trust has only grown stronger since she bound herself to him."

"Yet Sigyn also has a reputation for being unerringly loyal," Eir pointed out sharply. "It is a credit to my apprentice that she never breaks her word once it is given. But my dear Idunn, do you not think that would be the reason she has given her trust – more out of obligation rather than choice?"

"I trust more in my cousin's good judgment rather than in Loki's reputation," Idunn replied firmly. "If Sigyn believes her husband will carry out this deed without mishap or betrayal, then I shall not speak a word against him."

* * *

The center of Alfheim housed the Weapons Hall, the safest place in that realm for all that was powerful and dangerous.

The Eternal Flame flickered on undisturbed by the outside universe, much as it had the last time he had seen it on Asgard . . .

"Take with you also a message to your father," Freyr said quietly from behind. "Never again will I risk the safety of my people to postpone what the Alfather knows will take place."

"It was the will of the Alfather that the Flame be brought out of Asgard to rest here in safety. You dared not refuse any such command from him," Loki reminded him sharply, lifting the Flame into his hands carefully. With one flick of his wrist he folded the weapon into his dimensional pocket, hidden safely from all prying eyes.

"Odin sent the Flame here to rest beyond the reach of Surtur," Freyr interrupted, not too impatiently, but with enough edge that it made Loki's already brittle temper rise. "Alfheim risked its very existence in harboring that weapon . . . and now our own people may pay the price."

"What is it you are asking?" Loki sighed, finally turning to face him. "Speak plainly, for I have no time to waste quarreling with you."

Freyr hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

"If open war should descend upon the Nine Realms . . . and if Asgard brings this war to her very gates, which I believe is your plan . . . leave Alfheim to rest in peace, until at the utmost end of need."

"Let me see if I understand you rightly," Loki asked, narrowing his eyes at the upstart King. "Asgard has saved Alfheim in the past time and again, with no questions asked or recompense demanded. And yet now, if Asgard should have need of all of her allies, Alfheim will refuse to answer the call?"

Freyr said nothing . . . but his eyes spoke for him.

Rarely had Loki ever felt such bitter disgust; it tasted like bile in his mouth. He pushed passed the Elf King with a growl of contempt.

"I will deliver your message. But if the wrath of the Alfather falls on you because of it, I will not stand in his way."

"My Lord Loki," Faradai asked quietly, stepping in the Prince's path, "you still have not told us how you are going to convince Surtur to leave Alfheim. Even if the Flame is removed, how will he know you have it?"

The Trickster's sly smile caused a ripple of uncertainty to pass over the Elf captain.

"Because I'm going to tell him myself."

* * *

"It matters not if any of you trust my son or count him a liar," Odin said firmly, cutting off any further discussion of his son's character. "Loki has been sent, and there's an end to it. The issue before us now is not whether it was wise to send him to Alfheim, but what to do about Surtur's attack itself."

"If his goal truly is only the Eternal Flame," Karnilla said, leaning back in her chair, "then use of arms is pointless. But," here she turned her cold eyes on Odin, "if the Flame is removed from Alfheim . . . in what realm will you hide it next?"

"The Norn Queen brings up a good point," Njord broke in; Eitri rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Surtur's wrath has already fallen upon my son and his people. If you choose to house it in another realm, such as my own, the Fire Demon will follow – and I suspect he would see Vanaheim destroyed rather than let his prize escape again."

"Why must it always be Vanaheim that is the focus of this conference?" Eitri snapped. "Nadavhelir is as strong as any other. And if the Alfather wishes it, then none can refuse."

"Can we?"

There was a moment of brittle stillness. Every eye was fixed on Njord . . . as he had wished it, Odin thought dryly.

"Can we not refuse to keep this thing within our boarders?" Vanaheim's king went on boldly. "It was spoken long ago – by your Norn compatriots, Queen Karnilla – that if once Surtur reclaims the Eternal Flame, he will unite it with his sword Twilight, and with that combined strength would raze Asgard to the ground and bring about Ragnarok. But . . . never had any other realm been mentioned. It is possible that this danger will fall on Asgard alone. Why should we wish to bring such a fate upon our own peoples?"

The council shifted restlessly as each delegate awaited the tidal wave of wrath that was surely coming.

* * *

The attack was not going well.

The Elves were putting up a stronger defense than Surtur had believed possible. Every push into the city was either halted or repelled altogether. He was growing impatient.

And then there was the matter of that last blast of magic; powerful and somehow familiar . . . he felt he should know it.

But no matter; he would know it when he breached the city to take back what was his –

"I see you have not changed, Surtur. Why do you still strive so hard for something you know full well you will never obtain?"

The mocking voice rang clear in the darkness, cutting through his angered thoughts.

That voice was also familiar . . . one he had heard nearly every day and night for years beyond count . . .

His gaze was drawn up toward the wall above him. And there, on the living battlement . . .

A wave of rage rushed up out of him. Teeth bared, he turned to a soldier standing nearby.

"Kill him. I want his Jotun blood to melt in his veins."

The soldier beside him grinned, raising his weapon and taking aim at the tiny figure up above. The Trickster did not move, but continued to gaze down at him in smug assurance.

Fire blazed upward, enveloping the Frost Giant Prince. There was a shout of surprise and pain from the Elves scattered by his side, and for a moment the darkness was blazing with scorching heat.

But it only lasted a moment.

With a suddenness that nearly flung his entire army off their feet fire rushed back down at them, a blast of icy winter following in its wake. Shards of molten stone and charred wood like spear shafts, hardened by ice, impaled themselves through the first line of Surtur's offense.

Loki stood unbowed above him. Not even his clothes were singed. And his smile had only grown.

"There is no use in trying, demon. You will never lay hands on your precious Flame."

"Spoken as the arrogant child you are," Sutur growled, fangs bared, fists clenched. "You think you can withstand my might and power?"

The Trickster's expression became puzzled.

"Unless I am mistaken, I have just effectively repelled your attempt on my life and leveled a tenth of your so-called army with one spell. It would seem as if I can and _have_ withstood your 'power.'" The mocking grin returned. "Face facts, Surtur; you are nothing without the Flame." He lifted his hands. "And here it is."

Fire flickered between his hands, burning bright and hot. There was a ripple of uneasiness, both from the demons at his side and the Elves above, and every eye was suddenly fixed on the ruler of Muspelheim.

He grinned savagely.

"Fool," he hissed. "Only I can wield the Flame, and you know that well."

Loki laughed, clear and harsh.

"The fool is not I, but rather _you_, Surtur. I have no desire to _use_ it." A flick of his wrist, and the Flame vanished into the void. "I wish only to _hide_ it."

Surtur's anger turned dark, feral and fierce.

"You cannot hide from me that which is rightfully mine! I WILL find it – even if I have to search all of Alfheim for it!"

"Ah, but how do you know it is on Alfheim?" Loki asked, spreading his hands. "I could have hidden it anywhere. You can search until the skies fall around you . . . but you will never find it!"

With a roar of rage, Surtur hurled a stream of fire up at the wall. The Trickster ducked back, fleeing before the Fire Demon's wrath. Flames began to eat their way into the living wall, scattering the Elves that lined the battlements.

"If you will not surrender it to me," he shouted back, his voice growing louder with every word, "then I will tear this realm apart, piece by piece, until years from now the universe will wonder if there ever was a realm called Alfheim! DO YOU HEAR ME, SILVER-TONGUE?! **_I WILL BURN THIS CITY TO THE GROUND IF YOU KEEP THE FLAME FROM ME!_**"

But Loki had vanished from sight.

* * *

The Council gazed at the Vanaheim king incredulously.

"Njord . . . how can you even dare to _speak_ this way?!" Sif spat angrily, leaping to her feet. "Asgard has been the foremost defense of all of the Nine Realms since the beginning of time! We have fought and bled and died to keep your vaunted Vanaheim safe from fiends such as Surtur! And yet now you refuse to perform this one simple task of keeping safe a weapon that will bring about the end of us all . . . not only Asgard alone?"

"Peace, Sif," Odin broke in soothingly. "There will be no need to send the Flame anywhere else."

Sif hesitated, glancing uneasily at Fandral and Hogan and Volstagg, all of whom were gazing at each other in confusion . . . and concern.

". . . Alfather?" she asked hesitantly.

Odin rose to his feet.

"I have instructed Loki to bring the Flame back to rest here, in Asgard – where it belongs."

The journey back through the dark was much quicker than when he had started out.

Loki's stride quickened when he recalled the narrow escape he had on the wall. If he had known Surtur would respond with such vehement rage he would have found another way to tempt him to leave Alfheim. Now, with the flames of Muspelheim burning the walls of the city, he realized that Asgard would have no choice but to come to the aid of the Light Elves.

But not him. He had done his part; and the Alfather knew he would do no more for the cause . . . at least not –

A stirring within him stopped  
Loki in his tracks.

He frowned. The flow of magic permeating Alfheim had shifted.

_And he had felt it_.

Even stranger than that, though . . . the tides of power coursing around him called for him to join the defense. He had never felt anything like it ever before.

"Your Highness!" Faradai called out from where he had continued on ahead, rushing the Prince closer to his pathway back home. His face was lined with worry. "We must keep on. Why have you halted?"

Loki shook off the compulsion to stay and lend his strength to the cause.

It didn't take long for him to find the crack in the dimensions. Green magic widened the gap, just large enough for him to slip through.

The last thing he saw before he stepped into the void was Faradai watching him with an expression akin to . . . fear.

War had come to Alfheim. But this, Loki knew, was only the beginning . . .

* * *

Queen Karnilla slowly rose to her feet.

"Permit me, Alfather," she began coldly, "but if the Flame is as dangerous as you claim it is, then why continue to hide it? Why not turn the bane of your existence into a weapon to be used against Surtur and his armies?"

Odin smiled thinly.

"My dear Karnilla, no hand but Surtur can use the Flame effectively, as you well know."

"Well, then. Why not simply destroy it?"

It was such a simple question that the council suddenly stilled, each delegate lost in their own thoughts. But after a moment, Odin shook his head.

"If there was such a way to destroy it, do you not think that I would have discovered it long ago, and done away with the Flame even before my sons were born? But alas, it is not as simple as merely destroying it. The magic that binds the Flame to Surtur and he to it is of a kind that cannot be undone, cannot be broken – not without great cost to the remaining Realms. No. It cannot be destroyed."

"Then you simply delay the inevitable."

"Perhaps."

There was a pause, and for a moment Karnilla almost looked thoughtful. But Frigga could see as well as anyone else at that table that the Norn Queen's calculating mind was already made up.

"If this be the case," she said at last, looking back up at the Alfather, "returning the Flame to its resting place here, deep in the vaults of Asgard, would be seen by some as an act of wisdom. But with respect, Odin, I cannot count myself as one of them. In my mind, bringing the Flame here is nothing more than desperate folly."

"Is it folly, Karnilla?" Bragi spoke up bravely, his placid gaze fixed on the Norn Queen. "Is it truly folly to wish that harm fall on none but our people alone?"

"If the danger truly belonged to Asgard and no one else," she shot back, eyes narrowed, "then I would say you spoke truly, Ambassador. But Asgard has never stood alone in its troubles. Nornheim has long been the northern defense against the enemies of this realm, and time and again when trouble has come to Asgard, Nornheim has answered . . . if only to protect ourselves from the wrath of the Aesir's enemies." She paused, encompassing them all with her hard eyes before fixing a glare at the Alfather. "If, in this crisis, Surtur's armies should come to the very threshold of Asgard, and its people cry out for aid, Nornheim will answer . . . but we will not do so gladly."

"It is only through the Alfather's good graces that you retain your seat in Nornheim, Karnilla," Tyr growled dangerously, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "If Odin summons the armies of Nornheim, you _will_ come – gladly or no."

"Peace, Tyr," Odin admonished, raising his hand to still the argument that was coming. "To bicker and quarrel amongst ourselves like this only invites disaster. Even if each of you believe it wise – or safe – to remain neutral in this conflict, you must know in your hearts that this cannot be. Alone, each realm may hold out against the storm of Muspelheim for a while, but in the end they will be utterly swept away. It is only through uniting each of our strengths can we hope to defeat Surtur. When war comes to this land . . . every army that calls itself a friend of Asgard must come." He paused. "Or will Asgard stand alone?"

The silence in that room was so heavy and thick that Frigga felt as if she could not breathe easily. Karnilla slowly sat back down in her seat. For a long while no one spoke; Frigga could guess what each in that room was thinking: war – an actual war – was something none of the Nine Realms had been forced to face since before Thor and Loki were born. Thousands of years had passed in unbroken tranquility, and no one sitting at that table was eager to see the calm shattered. But on the other hand, each understood the implications of Surtur regaining the Flame; if Asgard – long known to be the most powerful and influential land in the universe – fell beneath Muspelheim's fire, then what would become of their own homes?

Njord was the first to speak.

"Asgard will not stand alone," he said quietly – almost humbly. "The armies of Vanaheim will stand ready should you need us, Alfather, as will our healers. You have only to send word to us."

"I have given my answer to this council already," Karnilla said. "If Asgard should call for aid, Nornheim will answer. Only heed my earlier warning. This may be the last crisis that we will defend against."

"Nidhavellir has ever stood ready to defend Asgard and its people," Eitri nodded. "My smiths and my soldiers are at your disposal, Alfather. There is only one thing I would ask in return."

"Speak, Lord Eitri," Odin invited. The dwarf's hands clenched on the table.

"If that youngest son of yours must be involved, keep him on a short leash. This is hardly the first time Asgard has given its wayward Trickster leave to play, and Nidhavellir has paid the price in the past."

"You spoke harsh words to me earlier, Eitri, about making my realm the center of this council," Njord growled angrily, glaring down at the shorter man, "and yet now you seek to make your own people the focus of our attention. The Trickster has plagued every realm since time immemorial, and each one has felt the sting of his lies."

"It was not Vanaheim that Loki tricked into creating powerful weapons to be used against them!" Eitri shouted, rising to his feet in anger. Njord also stood, towering over the dwarf.

"Loki, at least, cannot be faulted for your ignorance and pettiness –"

"My, my, just _listen_ to the two of you: old men bickering like children. How the Nine Realms have survived all these centuries I for one will never understand."

Everyone in the room started horribly at the sly, smug voice that somehow appeared behind them. Eitri and Njord whirled around as a shadow moved in the far corner of the room.

No one had even heard the Trickster slink into the room.


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

In other times, Loki would have been content to remain in the shadows, leaning against the wall, and listen to the room of fools bicker back and forth like old married couples. He could not remember how many years had passed since the last time the allies of Asgard had been assembled, but what he _did_ remember made his mischievous nature proud. It had been so easy – so simple – to pit these pretenders and pompous self-important braggarts against each other. Never anything harmful to Asgard or her people, but just enough to cause each of them to become a thorn in the other's side.

Oh how he wished there was time to play that game again.

But alas, he was forced to curb his Trickster half and avoid such fun.

Or at least, mostly.

The chamber was perfectly silent as he stepped out of his hiding place, his footfalls echoing across the expansive bronze and marble floor. Every eye was fixed on him, some with startled looks of surprise, while others were dark with suspicion . . . even hate. He felt a smirk creep onto his face at the sight; he was used to such looks – and long years ago he had learned how to use such glances as weapons against those that looked down on him.

But there was one pair of eyes he did not see present, the one gaze that he wanted to see in that moment . . .

He felt his heart sink a little at the realization that Sigyn had chosen not to join the council.

But no matter; he would see her soon. He simply had to deal with this riffraff first . . .

"Nothing to say?" he asked to his audience, spreading his hands in mock pleading. "Please, do not let me interfere with your railings against your neighbors. It has been long indeed since I have had the privilege of seeing all of you cooperate so willingly."

"I see the muzzle did little to curb your forked tongue, Odinson," Eitri replied, cocking an eyebrow at the Prince. "I believe I will gift a new one to your father. I've never been in the habit of GIVING things away, but it would be worth it to see you silenc-"

"Ah, _dear_ Eitri, I missed you too," Loki laughed. "Your gift is well-remembered in this realm, although I must confess it was more of a lapse in judgment than a true punishment on me. After all, a shackled snake only makes for a more dangerous animal."

"Then pray, loose not your venom on this council," Karnilla interrupted coldly. "Your childish games have only become more abhorrent; as a Prince of Asgard, I would think you ashamed to stoop to such base tricks."

"A Trickster without his tricks would be dull indeed," Loki agreed as he slowly walked past the table towards the Alfather. "Unfortunately, to deprive him of his namesake will only open the door to more . . . dangerous occupations."

"Whence come you, my son?" Odin broke in, silently reprimanding Loki with his stern gaze.

"From Alfheim, at your bidding, Alfather."

"And what news do you bring back with you?"

Loki paused, having reached the head of the table.

"Lord Freyr and his people are defending their realm as best they know how. But unfortunately the strength of Muspelheim's army is far greater than any of us had anticipated. They may hold out long, but the cost would be high."

"And . . . what of the Flame?" Idunn asked quietly, catching Loki's eye.

Why _this_ woman was brought into the council but not Sigyn, he would never understand . . .

With a quick twist of his hands and a soft whirring noise, Loki unfolded his prize from its hiding place in the Void. He held it up for all of them to see, its steady stream of fire still unwavering in that great room.

In some eyes he saw astonishment – that he would actually have kept his word and brought back that which the Alfather had sent him to fetch. In other eyes he saw fear – not of him, but of the thing he held in his hands.

But in every face he saw one thing that was the same: dread.

"So. The Flame has been removed from my son's realm," Njord spoke up. "The Alfather claimed that was all that monster of Muspelheim wanted. If this be the case . . . why does the Prince speak of a continuing siege? Does Surtur know his prize is out of his reach?"

"He knows," Loki answered sharply, "for I have shown it to him."

The council shifted uncomfortably. Odin said nothing, waiting for Loki to explain.

"I had hoped that, once Surtur saw the Flame in the hands of another, he would seek after the thief rather than search Alfheim for it. In this, perhaps, I was mistaken." He turned to face the Alfather, and while he kept his voice neutral, he let his self-proclaimed "father" see the anger and reproach in his eyes. "Surtur wished me to deliver an ultimatum to you, Odin: return the Flame to his possession . . . or all of Alfheim will burn."

Shocked silence fell over all of them. Loki kept his eyes on the Alfather, the bitter accusations plainly written on his face. It had been Odin's suggestion that Loki reveal himself to Surtur, show the Flame in his hands, just out of reach, in order to draw the monster away from Alfheim. Perhaps Loki had carried things a bit too far, allowed himself to enjoy Surtur's displeasure just a bit more than he should have . . . but it was hardly his fault that the ruler of Muspelheim had reacted so strongly . . . so irrationally.

This wasn't Loki's fault . . .

But apparently others disagreed.

"If my son . . . or any of his people perish because of your foolish game," Njord rumbled, rising to his feet angrily, "I will hold you personally responsible, Loki Odinson. And believe me when I say that Vanaheim exacts a heavy price on its enemies."

Loki's first instinct was to point out that this was not of his doing; Odin had instructed him, and he carried out the Alfather's wishes to the letter. It was not the Trickster's fault that Surtur took this latest defeat to such extremes.

He swallowed the words that were burning on his tongue. None in that room would believe they were true . . .

"My son may have saved Alfheim, for at least now Surtur's true attention is no longer focused on Freyr's people." Odin's voice was far calmer than Loki's would have been. "Surtur means to use Alfheim as a hostage, a tool to manipulate me into yielding to his demands."

"Alfather, I beg you, let us go to Alfheim's aid," Tyr said urgently. "We can no longer hope to achieve victory through words and trickery alone. We must drive the hosts of Muspelheim from Alfheim's gates if there is any chance of victory for Freyr's people!"

"How many has Surtur summoned under him?" Odin turned back to Loki. The Prince shrugged.

"Much of his army was hidden in darkness. But at a guess, I would say he has no more than five thousand soldiers under his command at this moment."

"Tyr, you have my leave to summon the captains and soldiers of Asgard to arms," the Alfather nodded toward the old warrior. "But let it be a small company, only enough to match and defeat Surtur's host. The full strength of Asgard must remain within these walls; I fear we may have need of them before long . . ."

"And will the house of Odin be represented in the attack?" Sif asked sharply, her eyes fixed on the royal family.

Loki snorted in derision.

"Surely you jest, Sif," he replied disdainfully. "My errand was of trickery, not open war."

"The words of a coward are unbecoming to a son of Odin," she sneered.

"A coward flees battle out of fear," he snapped, his blood boiling in his veins. "But a wise man knows when he is outclassed, Sif. As a seasoned warrior yourself, surely you knew that."

"ENOUGH!"

Odin had not raised his voice at all during this council, and it was a shock to all when his roar shook the floor beneath their feet.

"You waste time with your pointless bickering!" the Alfather growled. "Tyr, you shall go in my son's place. Assemble the army as quickly as you can. Surtur must be driven off of Alfheim before the sun sets on that world. As for the rest," he continued as Tyr, Sif and the Warriors Three all rushed to their feet and quickly left the room, "heed my warnings. If Asgard should call, all must come. Remember your oaths."

He paused, then swiftly turned his back on the assembly and strode from the hall, Frigga and Loki following in his wake.

"If we speak of wise men, do not count yourself among them, Loki," the Trickster heard Odin rumble up ahead. "What possessed you to taunt Surtur the way you did?"

"You instructed me to ensure that Surtur would believe the Flame gone from Alfheim," Loki pointed out sourly.

"I did not instruct you to bring his wrath down on Freyr and his people!"

"You did not name the method you would have me use!"

"Must I tell you _everything_ I would have you do?!" Odin snapped, rounding angrily on Loki. "Your foolishness has incited war upon Alfheim – the very thing I wished to avoid! And now you add to my shame by refusing to ride to Freyr's aid!"

"I did not do any of these things for the sake of pleasing you!" Loki spat hatefully.

He had once, long ago. Had tried to please his adoptive father and gain his affection and approval, to earn his love and respect. Every effort on his part had met with only fruitless ends.

He had given up trying to win Odin's approval. He felt he could never obtain it.

The Alfather shook his head, sighing heavily. When he looked back at Loki his expression seemed to have softened some.

"Why did you refuse?" he asked quietly.

"Because I have done my part!" Loki shouted, not caring who would hear. "I have done what you asked, journeying alone into a besieged city and retrieving the weapon of the enemy! Alone! Unaided! What more do you want of me!?"

"Loki," Frigga said quietly, sounding as if she wished to soothe him, "you have done so much for Asgard in the past. But she shall need both of her Princes in the days to come –"

"Let your favorite son lead the charge, then!" Loki snapped, yanking his arm out of her grip. "I have other concerns!"

"Loki! Where are you going?"

_Where? To the one place I have wanted to go since this accursed conflict began!_

"I have a wife and son who are worried about me . . ."

* * *

Morning sunlight shone bright and clear when Sigyn sat before the table laid for breakfast. But she hardly saw it nor felt the warmth.

As much as she wanted to believe him when her husband said he would not be long, had tried to reassure her everything would turn out well, she knew all too well that trouble followed him like no other. The longer he was gone the more convinced she became that he would not be returning shortly as he had promised.

It was not as if he could have ignored his father's summons though, and not only because Odin was the Alfather. Sigyn knew that Loki still craved the affection and pleasure of the King he served, despite numerous protestations to the contrary. He could no more deny his King then . . . fail to return to his family.

_Where is he!?_

He had refused to tell her where he was headed, had nearly refused her the reasons why. Just enough to worry her. Just enough to not allow her to fall back to sleep.

Just enough not said to terrify her.

He had not said it was . . . HIM. He had not said it was _not _either, though. But Sigyn knew . . . it had to be. There was no other explanation.

Such was the thought that had kept her awake, had her shivering and sweating beneath cold sheets at the memories.

_Helpless and weak, with no voice to cry, no control of the hands that struck to kill, of the body that refused to hold more than one extra life-_

And no one was there to hold her close through the shivering and tears. No one to tell her that it was over, and done with, and he would never allow such a thing to happen again . . .

It was tears and terror and exhausted gasping that the light of morning greeted . . .

But everything was easier to manage in the morning, especially dark memories and nightmares.

"Mother?"

Sigyn turned quickly, thrown from her worrying. She hadn't even heard anyone walk into the room. Although, she was not certain that was only because she was lost in thought. Her son had a habit of walking far too quietly for her liking sometimes.

Vali was much like his father in that.

Just as he was like his father in most everything else. Bright green eyes stared at her expectantly beneath black hair that glinted in the light from the windows. His brows were drawn close together: the very same expression Loki had when attempting to solve some puzzle or predicament.

"Good morning, Vali." She spoke pleasantly, trying not to show her fears and worries. "Come join me for breakfa-"

"Where is Father?" At only four years old his single-minded sense of purpose could rival Loki's.

"He is not here at the moment. Now, sit down and eat."

But the boy didn't move.

"_Where is Father?_" he asked again, planting his feet in that stubborn way of his. She sighed in exasperation.

"I have already told you, Vali-"

"No you haven't," he insisted, frowning at her. "You have only said where Father is _not_. You didn't say where he _is_."

It was easy now for anyone to see how frustrating – and endearing – the Son of the Trickster could be. Ordinarily Sigyn would either have gently scolded her son for his cheek, or would have laughed at his sharp intellect.

But his words caused her own heart to fret once again . . .

"I . . . I do not know where he is, Vali. I only know he is not on Asgard now."

Vali's stubborn expression slowly became crestfallen disappointment. His small, narrow shoulders sagged, bright green eyes dimmed and lowered to the floor to stare at his feet. He seemed to shrink before her eyes.

How many times had she seen him like this, disappointed when his Father left without warning . . .?

"He promised . . ." came the small, defeated voice. "He _promised_ he would teach me a new spell today. Why . . . why did he leave?"

Sigyn couldn't stand to see the hurt on her son's face. She reached out toward him, wrapping herself around his tiny form when he threw himself into her arms. The pleading question was repeated, muffled as he buried his face against her.

"He left because he had to," she said gently. "Your grandfather sent him away to do something very important."

The child was quiet for a while, his innocent mind trying to fathom what could possibly have been more important to his father than keeping his promise to his son. The child of the Goddess of Fidelity, Vali seemed to take promises just as seriously as his mother did, no matter how trivial they seemed to be. The son of Mischief knew that sometimes promises were broken, even by a father who loved him dearly.

"He never said good-bye . . ." Sigyn heard her own fears echoing in Vali's sad observation. But she smiled and held him closer.

"Your father will be home soon, Vali," she assured him.

"He could have stayed," Vali said with a pout. She couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes, he could have . . . but your grandfather asked him to do something. And you should know by now that no one says no to your grandfather."

"Honestly, you two give me so little credit . . ."

Vali stiffened in Sigyn's arms, pulling away from her and turning expectantly toward that soft, amused voice. Then his face lit up, his delight spilling into his eyes as a gleeful smile sprang onto his face.

"Father!" he squealed, breaking free from his mother in unabashed joy. Loki was there waiting on the threshold, bending down on one knee, to scoop his son up in his arms.

It was difficult to tell whose smile was more delighted: the son or the father.

Sigyn slowly rose to her feet, feeling as if she did not quite know what to do with herself. Her first reaction was the same as her son's: to rush across the room and throw her own arms around him, delighted to see him home so soon. But at the same time, she felt an overwhelming wave of dread; if Loki had returned only six hours after passing through dangers unknown, then surely this was not something to be celebrated. Not with an enemy such as . . . HIM on the rise once more . . .

So she simply stood there, watching the joyful reunion of father and son . . . and wishing she could feel the same.

"Mother said you had left," Vali said when he had stopped giggling. Loki's smile remained the same.

"So I did. But I am home now, so let's not talk of that anymore."

"You promised you would teach me a new spell. You did not forget, did you?"

Loki laughed and mussed his son's hair affectionately.

"Of course not! I made certain I would come back just so I could teach it to you."

"Will you show me now?"

"In a moment, Vali," Sigyn broke in, finally making up her mind. "Your Father and I need to talk."

The overjoyed smile slowly faded from the boy's face, and his brows knit together in a puzzled, rather concerned look. His bright eyes flickered back and forth between his parents as he noticed the fiery stare his father was trapped under. Vali seemed to shrink in Loki's arms.

"Is . . . is Father in trouble again?" he asked quietly.

It was a tribute to the intelligence of the Trickster's son that he recognized how often his father was in trouble.

Sigyn sighed, folding her arms across her chest. The fire was still in her eyes, but it was now softened by a touch of humor.

"Yes, son. Your father is in serious trouble again."

Vali bit his lip, stared at the floor for a moment, then squirmed in his father's arms until Loki was forced to set him down again. The instant the boy's feet were on the floor he rushed away, and Sigyn thought she heard him mutter as he passed: "Not again . . . Father's _always_ in trouble . . ."

Sigyn waited until she heard the door to their chambers open, footsteps clattering away down the hall toward either the kitchens or the training grounds, and then the silence following the doors closing.

It was Loki who broke the silence first.

"Sigyn . . . you act as though you are not happy to see me." However lightly he said it, she could hear the note of hurt in his voice. In other times she would have tried to assuage his doubts, but now . . . Of _course _she was happy to see him! But . . .

"I did not expect to see you home so soon," she admitted stiffly. Loki's confused smile was slowly slipping from his lips.

"Would you rather that I had stayed away longer?"

"Of course not, but . . ." She took a deep breath and looked away for a moment. "Really, there are times I don't know what to do with you, Loki Odinson," she muttered under her breath.

"You're _angry_ with me!" Loki said incredulously.

"Yes!" she snapped, flaming eyes locked back onto ice. "Yes, I _am_ angry with you!"

"But . . . _why?_"

Her words caught in her throat, strangling her for a moment, hardly believing her husband had just asked why –

"You . . . you dare . . . to _ask that_?!"

Her rage was so sudden, so frightening, that Loki started and stepped back in alarm.

"How can . . ." she could hardly find words to match her ire, "How can you ask that? How can you _not know?!_"

Her husband now looked very nearly as angry as herself. The confusion in his eyes was still there, but there was steel behind those emerald lights now, steel that matched the incredulous anger in his voice.

"How can I not – I don't know your _mind_, Sigyn! You have to – I cannot know unless you tell me!"

"You _left_!" she screamed.

"_Yes! Yes I left!_ Did you wish for me to ignore the Alfather's summons? For me to abandon my home when I am needed because my wife is –"

"Don't you _dare_ finish that sentence!"

"Then tell me, wife. Did you want me to stay? Even if it would endanger Asgard?"

A part of Sigyn wanted to tell him that yes, he had pledged his life to _her_, had promised he would always be hers and hers alone. But . . . she knew he was also a Prince of Asgard. His loyalty would _always_ belong there as well as to her.

"I don't want to be left like that again: without knowing where you are going or why. Without knowing if there is even a _chance_ for you to return."

"Sigyn . . . I cannot always – "

"Then I want to know everything you know. You are my closest friend, my husband, my _other half!_ How will we ever be able to continue when we are unable to work as one?"

Loki heaved an enormous sigh.

"The Alfather will absolutely _hate_ this . . . "

But his voice trailed off into silence, leaving his thought unfinished. His expression changed. For the first time since he entered the room his gaze was centered directly on her. The stubborn set to his shoulders suddenly softened.

"Sigyn?" He took a half step forward. "You haven't slept . . ."

The wall Sigyn had been carefully constructing from the moment her sobs had ended began to crumble. She only managed to shake her head, not trusting her voice suddenly.

"You were that worried?" If she didn't know any better she could have sworn that the tiniest hint of panic edged his question. "All because you didn't know –?"

"Memories." Sigyn managed a single word and then a few more, "from – from when . . ."

Any words that may have been brave enough to push themselves past a clenched throat would have been swallowed up by thick fabric. She wrapped her arms tightly about the body suddenly in front of her and felt warmth surround her.

The wall crumbled completely.

Flashes of her nightmares sped through her mind once more, thick and fast. Memories she thought had been buried, tortures she wished she could forget. Fears that had easily been chased away with naught but a word from him . . . the one who had saved her then . . .

The one that had abandoned her last night.

"I needed you," she sobbed into his chest. "I needed you with me . . . I needed – why did you not tell me the truth? Why . . . why would you leave me like that?"

He didn't answer. But his arms tightened around her, anchoring her reality as she struggled to push the memories aside.

"Loki . . . tell me the truth," she cried thickly. "Tell me . . . tell me what you would not tell me last night. Is it . . . HIM? Has he come back?"

Loki was silent for so long that Sigyn was afraid he would not answer her. Long fingers curled in her hair, cradling her head against him. The arm across her shoulders softened, but still he did not say anything.

"Please . . ." she whispered. "If you care anything for me, then tell me . . ."

She heard Loki's quiet sigh next to her ear. A sigh of resignation . . . of regret . . .

"Yes."

She bit back a wail of fear, burying her face deeper into his chest.

It was the worst possible thing he could have said.

Yet strangely enough, she felt . . . relieved also.

Knowing the worst was better than not knowing at all . . .

And this time she would not have to face her terror alone in the dead of night.

She felt her heart steady, her sobs becoming steadying breaths, and Loki's arms becoming a stronghold rather than a shield . . .

"Tell me what happened," she insisted.

And he did.


	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Why was Father _always_ in trouble?

It seemed like every time he came home, no matter where he had gone, he had done something wrong. Vali knew a little about what his father got up to, the messes he would make sometimes, and no matter how bad it was, he had seen his mother welcome him home time and again- after she scolded him for a few minutes. Vali had overheard some of their talks before and most - while they sounded serious - had never really lasted long, and things went back to the way they were before.

But this time, he knew it was different.

He had never seen Mother this angry before. The look in her eyes when she said she and Father needed to talk made Vali think his father had done something _very_ bad this time.

The angry shouting he heard in the next few minutes only made him even more certain.

He knew he shouldn't have been listening outside the door, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to know. He wanted to know why Mother was so worried and Father was so hurt. But after only a few minutes he rushed away from the door again. He didn't like it when his parents were unhappy. So he wandered off, looking for ways to distract himself from his family's problems.

It was a long, _long_ time before he had the courage to return home.

When he did, he carefully opened the door and listened intently. All was quiet again, and he felt brave enough to look around for his parents.

After only a few minutes of searching, he found the door to their bedroom standing half-open. Peeking through the crack, he saw his Father sitting on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through Mother's hair as she lay sleeping. He had seen him do that many times before. Mother seemed to like it, and it usually meant that they were no longer arguing.

Father's head suddenly came up, and he immediately caught sight of Vali as he slowly pushed the door open.

Vali wanted to ask if it was over now, but Father didn't give him a chance. He held a finger to his lips, silently telling him to stay where he was, before carefully standing up.

"Father . . . are you still in trouble?" Vali asked, careful to keep his voice to a whisper. Father smiled a little, putting his hand on his son's shoulder.

"No, Vali, I do not believe I am in trouble at the moment."

"What's wrong with Mother? Why was she so angry?" One question was answered, so it was time for another.

Father didn't reply for a long time. He seemed to be thinking, his eyes leaving his son's gaze to stare at something the boy couldn't see. But it seemed the longer he thought, the sadder he became. Vali could tell his Father wanted to tell him something, something important, but was struggling with how to say it. After a long pause, Father knelt down in front of him.

"Your mother . . . did not sleep well last night."

A twinge of guilt twisted Vali's stomach.

"Was . . . was it my fault? I was _trying_ to be quiet, honest I was! But I really wanted to practice my magic, I wasn't trying to keep her awake!"

Father's smile was still sad as he gently touched his face.

"No, of course you didn't, son. It was not your fault."

"Then . . . why . . .?"

The question hung unfinished between them. Again, Father seemed to be trying to choose his words carefully. After a minute or two, he sighed.

"I wish I could explain it all to you, Vali, but I do not think you are old enough to understand. Your mother was simply worried because I left for a while."

"But . . . you have left before. Why was this different?"

His father remained silent yet again, but his eyes suddenly changed, a sharp look and a sudden tightening of his mouth at first made Vali think he must have said something he shouldn't have. Vali watched as his eyes darted back and forth, from him to the floor, towards his sleeping mother and then back. But a moment later something . . . something else worked its way into his father's gaze as he looked at him.

Was it . . . fear?

No. Father was never afraid. Of anything. _Never_.

But . . . then what could possibly be . . .?

"Father . . . is . . . is something bad going to happen?"

Father released a very long breath.

"It is... too early to be certain, but... yes, there is the possibility that something bad may happen."

"I want to help."

"No, Vali. you can-"

"But I _can_, Father! I've been practicing the spells you showed me and, if I try _really_ hard then I can light the fire from across the room now. And, and I can-"

"No."

"But-"

"I will not see you harmed."

Vali felt his shoulders slump in defeat.

"But . . . but I want to help . . ."

"Vali, you're too young," he replied gently.

A lump worked its way into Vali's throat. Why did everyone say he was too young to help? What was the good of being four years old and practicing magic if nobody would let him help? Mother was frightened – and he wanted to help make her _not_ frightened. Father was worried – and he wanted to help make him _not_ worry. But he didn't know how.

Why would no one let him help?

Father must have seen how disappointed Vali was, because the next moment he pulled him into a quick hug.

"You're too young at the moment," he went on after a minute, "but someday you will be old enough to help."

"When I'm five?"

Father laughed, shaking his head fondly.

"Perhaps a little older than that, Vali. But if you really want to help someday, you must learn how to protect yourself." He cocked an eyebrow at him. "Would you like me to show you how?"

"Oh yes, Father!" It was difficult to keep his voice lowered for his mother, but he managed somehow.

Vali couldn't help now; but Father had confidence in him, trusted him enough to want to teach him more difficult magic. And for now, that was more than enough.

But somewhere, in the back of his mind, Vali knew that Father was keeping something from him, something important . . . something that he was afraid of.

Maybe someday he would be old enough to learn that, too.

* * *

It was unfortunate that Sif's horse had to suffer under her foul temper.

"Oh come Sif, what has the poor animal ever done to you?"

Sif turned angrily to the one who uttered the light-hearted quip.

"It is not my horse. It is that coward who refuses to ride to battle like a warrior aught."

"Hush, keep your voice down!" Fandral hissed, anxiously glancing around them at the soldiers that were gathering for the assault. "It's scarcely wise to insult an Odinson in a crowd such as this."

"I care not if they _do_ hear me!" Sif bit out, tugging on the saddle girths perhaps harder than she needed to. "He speaks of wisdom and experience, and yet he remains here in safety, to hide behind the walls of his palace home and leave the people of Alfheim to burn!"

"Loki's gifts have never been on the field of battle," Volstaag pointed out humbly as he mounted his horse. "He has never relished the thrill of war nor delighted in strength of arms or numbers. Silver-Tongue's voice has always been his greatest weapon . . . which as we know is of little use against swords and spears."

"A Prince's duty should always be to protect his Realm – gifts of battle or no," Hogun said quietly.

"Exactly!" Sif snapped. "Loki has ever been jealous of Thor's strength and prowess, and yet he refuses to partake in events that will give him claim to all the glory and honor that his elder brother has earned! With Thor gone now on Midgard, this would have been a singular opportunity for Loki to prove his valor and devotion to his home and his king! And yet he chooses once again to skulk in shadows, revealing himself as the coward he truly is!"

"It is not our place to say such things, Sif!" Fandral whispered hurriedly. "Coward or no, Loki is our Prince. It is not seemly for any in our position to voice such opinions in public."

"Careful of your words, Fandral," Sif warned, fire in her stare, "or I shall think of you on the same level as that snake in the palace beyond!"

"Sif, I think in this instance you judge Loki wrongly," Volstaag spoke up bravely.

"Do I?"

"Yes. For in this matter perhaps there is something this entire company should consider. Loki's duties and responsibilities no longer lie with Asgard alone. Or must I remind you that he has a family of his own? It is perhaps unwise for any warrior to judge a man with a wife and child so harshly when the warrior has never known such cares as that."

For a moment, Sif did not reply. As much as she wished she could deny it, part of her knew that Volstaag was right. Loki had indeed changed much in that one respect: he no longer thought only for himself, but was fiercely protective of his wife and young son. Given their history, she grudgingly supposed she couldn't blame him. But even so . . .

"That is no excuse," she went on stubbornly, mounting her steed and joining the ranks of the other soldiers as they filed out of the gates of the city. "If Loki truly wished to protect them, he would be coming with us to Alfheim, to ensure that Surtur never again troubles this realm."

She turned and glared back at the palace towering above the city far behind them, as if she could still see the Sorcerer-Prince standing on one of the hidden terraces.

"What could possibly be more important to him than the protection of his home?"

* * *

Vali followed behind his father until they were standing outside on one of the terraces overlooking the city. Mother had often told Vali to stand out here when he was practicing his magic, saying it was safer than doing so inside the house. The bronze and marble balcony was wide enough that there was no risk of injuring anyone accidentally, and another benefit was that they were now far enough away from the window of his parent's bedroom that they would not disturb Sigyn while she rested.

His father suddenly put his hand out, preventing Vali from following any further. Knowing what he wanted him to do, the boy obediently stood waiting until Loki faced him again, about five paces away.

"Now, Vali," he began. "You remember how to cast fire at a person?"

Vali frowned worriedly, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably.

"Yes, Father. But . . . I have not practiced it much. Mother says it's dangerous."

"So it is . . . when you use it against anyone else. But I want you to use it against me."

Vali's frown deepened. Father must have seen his hesitation because he smiled at his son.

"You will not hurt me, Vali. Trust me."

Vali nodded and, screwing up his courage as well as his concentration, he conjured a small ball of fire between his hands. With only a second's delay, he flung his spell across the terrace at his father as hard as he could. It sped towards him –

In the blink of an eye, his flaming projection vanished, extinguished by some invisible force not two feet from where his father stood.

It was so sudden and so unexpected that Vali gasped. An instant later he felt questions spilling out of his mouth without any conscious thought at all:

"Father! How did you do that? What did you do? Show me how to do that . . .!"

"One step at a time, Vali!" his father laughed, holding up a hand to still his loose tongue. "Before I can show you, there is something you must understand – and remember this, because it is very important: the first rule in any fight is to keep up a strong defense."

Vali felt his brow furrow in a confused frown.

"But . . . that's not what Uncle Thor says . . ."

Father closed his eyes and breathed deep, the way he always did whenever he was trying not to be frustrated or angry.

"Well then, what does 'Uncle Thor' say?" he asked, just the barest hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"He always says that one must choose the mightiest weapon to prevail."

Father grinned.

"But what is the mightiest weapon you own?"

"Uncle Volstaag always says it's my words...? Like you, he said."

"Close. But try again."

Vali thought hard. Finally...

"My- my magic...?"

"Exactly. But because your magic is dependent upon your physical well-being it is of utmost importance that you protect yourself."

"Oh... You and Uncle Thor don't always agree during battle do you...?"

Father laughed lightly.

"Remind me once we are finished to tell you a tale of when we were younger. But for now, I will teach you how to shield yourself with magic."

* * *

The sun rose to shine over a battleground that had not been seen in centuries.

Tyr sat on his mount at the head of the line of cavalry, surveying the open field below them, with its flood of Fire Demon soldiers swarming across it. Rank upon rank of fire filled the dead grasslands below, reforming and reordering their defense as they saw the new threat soon to rush down upon them.

His eye strayed behind him, to the six-thousand soldiers at his command, waiting restlessly in formation across the crest of the hill. Not for the first time since the army left Asgard did Tyr wish the Alfather had given him a larger force to contend with Surtur's.

And for at least the tenth time that morning, Tyr wished that Thor had come with them.

The Trickster he was half-glad had stayed at home. His back felt easier knowing that Loki was not leading the charge beside him.

Tyr turned his horse's head and spurred him on, sweeping over to the other captains that waited on horseback in readiness for orders.

"Hjalmar, lead your company along the northern edge; cut Surtur's army off from escape into the surrounding forest!" The first captain nodded and rushed away. Tyr turned to the second man. "Anundr, your men to the left, surrounding the enemy to the south."

"I go, my lord!" the captain shouted, spurring his mount to his company, barking sharp orders as he did so.

Tyr turned to the last man of all still in his saddle beside him.

"Ivarr, after the first charge, lead your companies down the center behind my cavalry: spears in front, archers behind. Be swift!"

Lines reformed. Companies shifted to stand behind their leaders. Banners were raised, and Tyr took his place in the center of the line.

For one breathless moment, for one space of time, peace flooded over the army . . .

* * *

"Close your eyes, Vali."

He did so obediently.

"I want you to tell me what you feel."

"Excited. Happy. Really, reall-"

"Not that kind of feeling." His father couldn't help but smile.

Vali's eyes peeked open.

"Then what kind do you me-"

"Eyes closed." They snapped shut immediately. "Around you. What do you feel around you?"

Vali's brow creased as he concentrated. For several seconds, an eternity for a boy his age, he was quiet, thoughtful, straining to _feel . . ._

With a flick of a finger the Trickster sent a swirl of air toward his son.

The child perked up.

". . . wind?"

"Yes, very good. Now, do you know why you can feel the wind?"

Vali was stumped. It was just air . . . why should he be able to feel something if there wasn't anything in it? If it was just . . . nothing . . . ?

"I . . . I don't know, Father."

He felt, a changing in the air around him, as his father knelt beside him.

"It is because the air is _not_ nothing. It is made up of many, many small pieces too small to see . . . but not too small to feel."

"But . . . how does that help me with my magic?"

"Think, Vali. How do you make the fire appear?"

Vali opened his eyes, staring at his father kneeling next to him.

"I just . . . I suppose I tell it start?"

"But how?"

Vali reeled, trying desperately to explain how it felt when he called to the fire and it . . . just appeared.

"I think I tell it to . . . move? Because it wasn't . . . wasn't moving before . . ."

Father smiled at him and was rewarded with an enormous grin in return.

"This shield is similar to how you call fire. Only instead of telling the air to move, to create warmth and light, you must tell it to remain still, to squeeze tightly together."

Vali nodded excitedly.

"But!" Father cautioned, "you must not tell _all_ the air to stop. What would happen if you told all the air to move?"

"It would... ummm . . ." Vali thought a moment. "It would make fire everywhere?"

"Yes, exactly. If you tell the ALL air to stop moving you won't be able to move."

"I see, Father. So . . . I have to tell all the small pieces to... stop? And let them stay together? But how does that make a shield?"

Father reached down to gently grasp Vali's wrist. He spread his son's fingers wide.

"This is like the small pieces in the air. . ." Here he conjured a tiny piece of light and had it dance around and through the spread digits. "Things can move around them easily because they're not held together . . ." He then pressed Vali's fingers until they lined up tightly. The tiny ball of light ran into the wall of fingers and bounced off.

"If the pieces are held together tightly enough nothing can get through."

For many long moments Vali's face resembled his father's when he was perplexed by some concept that eluded him.

But at last his face cleared, his eyes locked with his father's and he beamed.

"I understand, Father!"

* * *

Spears were lowered, shields were raised, hearts were hardened in preparation of the bloodshed that was to follow. Last glances at the companions in endless lines around them, each knowing that they would not see many of their fellows before the sun set on this Realm. But, whenever brave hearts nearly quailed, when courage nearly left the Asgardian lines, the eye would stray to the beleaguered city below, burning in the fires of Muspelheim as well as the growing light of the morning . . . and resolve would fill their hearts once again.

The horn sounded. And with a steady stream that soon became a rushing tidal wave, the Asgardian line rushed down upon the Fire Demons lining the fields before them.

The armies collided . . . and all was lost in a cacophony of confusion and chaos.

But however hard the Asgardians thrust themselves upon the enemy, the found to their dismay that their lines would not give. Their strength would not break.

The day tarried on with no clear victor decided . . .

* * *

Father stepped back and after a moment gestured Vali to come closer.

"Hold out your hand."

Vali did.

"Closer."

Vali moved closer and then felt his hand hit . . . something . . . in mid-air

It was not hard like steel or stone. Rather it moved a bit under his palm. But it would not move further than that barest give. Vali also noticed that it didn't feel like any type of material he'd ever felt before. Not smooth like marble or warm like his mother's arms. Not rough like tree trunks or cold like ice. It reminded him of ice though, besides the lack of being cold. Slippery in a way. Solid in another. Constructed to encourage anything to slide by instead of impact directly.

"Can you feel that?" Father asked. Vali nodded, still pressing his hand against the invisible wall in fascination. "That is what a true shield should feel like. It should be solid, and yet yield just slightly to anything that touches it."

Loki flicked his hand slightly . . . and Vali felt the barrier melt away as the pieces of air were released from his father's control.

"I want you to try and create your own shield."

Vali nodded, excited to finally try for himself. He screwed up his face and concentrated, trying to remember everything his father had just told him.

And as he tried, he saw his father standing across the room smiling at him.

* * *

Bloodied and grim, Ivarr paused beside Tyr on the crest of the hill.

"My lord Tyr . . . we cannot hope for victory in this way!" he panted. "Surtur has amassed more strength than we had reckoned with. We have lost nearly a third of our entire force."

"And Surtur has lost his equal!" Tyr barked angrily, feeling the first workings of desperation clawing at his stomach. Never before had he been defeated in battle . . . and he was determined that they should not fail now.

"Tyr . . . we must sound a retreat. Fall back, or at least send one with word back to Asgard. If word does not reach the Alfather than all is lost!"

"NO!" Tyr bellowed, unsheathing his sword. "Reform the line! Return to your men and reform the line!"

As the chief archer rushed wearily away, Tyr turned his horse to face what was left of their army.

"Heed me now, soldiers of Asgard! Shall we abandon Alfheim to its ruin? Let the Elves suffer beneath the sword of a barbarian such as Surtur . . . simply because we were matched in strength? Not so! Shall we turn tail and run, like a dog into the shadows, only because the battle is not easily won? Not so! We are men of ASGARD! We do not flee from our enemies! We do not allow the darkness of doubt into our hearts! We stand! We fight! And we shall win the day!"

The renewed battle-cries of the Asgardian soldiers were like the roar of a waterfall: endless, powerful, and deadly. The ground shook in their fury, their voices echoing across the battlefield as if the earth itself had risen in its anger.

With a rush, Tyr lead the charge back down the hill, into the valley of war itself, determined to reclaim Alfheim from Surtur's clutches.

Reclaim it . . . or die in the attempt.

* * *

"I can't do it, Father!" Vali howled angrily as his tiny shield let another speck of light through to touch his hand. "I just -!" He tried again, "can't - !" and again, "do it!"

The Trickster took a step forward, kneeling in front of his son.

"You are trying far too hard, Vali. Just be patient," he said calmly, not the least bit concerned that his son was failing at his lesson. His father had made it look so easy; but no matter how hard he tried, Vali simply couldn't get the pieces of air to stay close together.

Father took Vali's tiny hand in his again, holding it out in front of him, palm outward.

"I'm trying, Father," Vali muttered miserably. "I really am trying . . ."

"It's alright, Vali," the othr assured him gently. "I was not able to master this spell until I was twice your age, and for a first try you are doing well. But you need to slow down and remember what I showed you." He pressed his own palm against his son's. "Don't be concerned with trying to protect all of you with your shield. Start small; make your shield only as big as your hand. Try to push my hand away from yours."

Vali bit his tongue and screwed up his eyes again, trying to imagine the pieces of air around his hand coming together –

Father's hand twitched, just slightly. But for a split second his hand was no longer pressed against Vali's, as if something had gotten in the way . . .

"Good, Vali! Very good!" his father encouraged, his broad smile giving Vali even more confidence. "Try again, a little harder this time."

Vali did so, willing with everything in his tiny body to make his father's hand move again –

Slowly, in increments, his father's hand began to hover away from Vali's, held back by an unseen force. Finally, after several long moments of strained concentration, their hands were held some eight inches apart from each other.

Father pulled his hand away as he rose to his feet and took several steps back.

"Very good, Vali! Now concentrate and keep it just like that." He flicked his hand a little, and another orb of light sped toward Vali's hand. Vali braced himself for disappointment, to see that small glowing ball pierce through the invisible barrier –

It came to a halt just a few inches from his fingers; it didn't slide off as the fire had done on his father's shield, but it did not break through.

Vali gasped. His eyes were shining joyfully when he looked across the room to his father. The orb disappeared, and Vali skipped across the room into his father's arms.

"I did it, Father! Did you see that? I did it!"

* * *

Surtur's line finally – at last! – broke and fled.

What had once been an unsure contest was now quickly becoming a rout. Fire Demons were now scattered from their companies, rushing this way and that in their desperation. Surtur himself had long since vanished, fleeing the battlefield once he knew he was sure to lose. As for the rest, they were clearly determined to take as many Asgardians with them in death as they could before being slain themselves. But soon, cries of "Victory! Victory for Asgard!" were heard in every direction. And before an hour was out, every spark of flame had been extinguished from the realm of Alfheim.

The army scarcely had time to celebrate their triumph, however, when Anundr's loud shout cut through the air.

"Make way! Make way, quickly!"

Without waiting for anyone to respond to his shouts, the Asgardian captain rushed through the lines, back towards the Asgardian portal as quickly as his tired horse could manage.

In his arms, he carried the body of Tyr – clinging to life . . . a bloodied stump where his right arm had once been.

* * *

She left the darkness of dreamless sleep behind to enter the darkness of a nearly silent room.

The door was closed but behind it she could hear the steady wordless voice of her husband with occasional bouts of muffled laughter from her son. It did not push all worries away but it lightened her heart to hear both of them home, safe and happy. Sigyn pulled her prone body to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Sleep still clung to the edges of her awareness, calling to her, but she knew she wouldn't be able to follow what her body so desperately wanted. So she shook the last lingering bits of sleep away and rose.

For a brief moment all she saw was white when the door opened but then she was out of the bedroom and saw, near the open balcony, her family.

Vali had a hand outstretched, palm facing his father. Loki stood a few feet away and Sigyn saw tiny points of light dancing around the two of them. Every few seconds a light would dart toward Vali and he would raise his hand, causing the light to stop several inches from his palm. Both of them had wide smiles firmly in place, and Vali would let out a sharp burst of laughter every time a light stopped. Sigyn stood and watched them, not willing to disturb something that had happened too little of late.

It was several minutes before either of them noticed her.

Vali was the first to see her. He had been watching a light closely and moving to follow it when he turned to face her. For a moment his face was set in concentration, focused on the light. But then he must have seen her - for his eyes widened and his smile turned from pleased to beaming. He let the light slip by in his excitement.

"Mother! I can do it now! Did you see?"

Loki whirled around the moment Vali had shouted. _His_ smile, however, changed to a worried frown when he saw her.

"Sigyn . . . are you . . . ?"

"Yes, Loki. I am well. Or . . . better."

He didn't have time to ask her more as Vali had bounded up to her and grabbed her hand.

"Feel this mother- try to- try to push against my hand. You won't be able to touch it! Father showed me!"

Sigyn smiled apologetically to her husband before giving Vali her attention.

Loki for his part watched Sigyn kneel down to listen to the excited chattering of their son. She DID appear much better than when he had first returned but . . . exhaustion still showed - in her eyes, in her movements. He was not certain a few hours of sleep had done more than take the edge off her weariness. But at least she was happy, Her smile when Vali forced her to try and touch his hand was one he never wanted to see her without. At least she was not wracked with fear and worry and without knowing what her home and loved ones faced.

Loki was pulled out of his thoughts as he sensed someone walking past the lines of spells he had placed around their rooms. Someone he didn't recognize but who felt . . . soft, somewhat soothing, nervous, excited, determined-

The thudding of a knock against the door stopped Vali's demonstration. Sigyn glanced up at him nervously, fearing it was someone calling him away again.

"No. This, I believe, is for you. A healer, I think."

She rose quickly and Vali followed at her heels, grabbing on to her hand and holding tightly.

Loki followed a bit slower. Sigyn opened the door to the hallway-

"Dagmar, good morning."

"Good morning, my Lady. Mistress Eir has sent for you. There are many wounded expected within the hour."

Loki watched his wife's back straighten, the weariness pushed aside.

"Thank you, Dagmar. You can tell her I shall be along shortly."

Loki saw the young woman bow her head quickly but respectfully before turning and rushing away down the hall.

Sigyn turned to him, Vali still holding tight to her hand but quiet and pensive in contrast to his demeanor a mere minute before.

Sigyn broke the heavy silence.

"You will watch Vali?

"The Alfather will be expecting me if the troops are returning . . ." Loki sighed and glanced down. Their son was clutching Sigyn's hand with both his own, eyes darting between his mother and father. Not quite anxious, but close. Not quite disappointed, but nearly so. "But . . . we can spend that time visiting my mother."

There was another long pause, as both of them spoke words to each other with only their eyes.

"You cannot tell me not to go," Sigyn said aloud, no doubt seeing his expression.

"I never would. You are needed." He tried not to say it pointedly.

The look she gave him told him he was not entirely successful.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly and held her close. The hand not occupied by Vali wrapped around his waist.

"Even though I will never tell you not to go that doesn't mean I don't wish for you to stay right here."

He felt her smile.

"And I will always tell you not to go. But that never means I am not proud of you."

"Do you have to do that every time you leave?"

Vali was staring up at them, lips curled in displeasure. He still hadn't let go of his mother's hand though.

"Of course we do. That's how your father and I say we love each other."

Vali eyed his mother doubtfully.

"Grandmother and Grandfather love each other right?"

"Yes."

"And other mothers and fathers?"

"Yes, them too."

"Then why do they never do this? If that's what it means."

Loki couldn't help but laugh at the harried look that crossed her face. But he took pity on her.

"Vali, we will be visiting Grandmother today. Go gather what you wish to take."

Vali beamed up at him, former questions forgotten as the promise of a much-loved visit was much more interesting to his young mind.

"Yes, Father!" He let go of Sigyn's hand and, with a tiny shout of joy, was running off to his room.

Sigyn watched Vali until he disappeared, that tight, anxious expression returning to her already-tired eyes.

"Do not tell him more than you need," she said quietly. Again, Loki couldn't help but laugh; but it was laughter without any real joy behind it.

"He's a clever boy; he will discover the truth for himself before long. But you have my word I will say nothing to him about what is likely to come."

The thin smile she gave him was not enough to erase the anxiety from her brow. He leaned down and pressed his lips softly to where worry creased her brow, wishing that it would somehow smooth away the cares of the past several years. His fingers ran through her hair where it lay against her back, and he felt the tension leave her.

"I wish I could stay with you and Vali today . . ."

"Then why don't y-?"

"Because I am needed. There are sure to be many wounded, more than just a few seriously so."

Loki pulled her closer, tucking her head beneath his chin and feeling both her arms around him this time. As much as he knew he could never deny her her life's work, he still wanted nothing more than for her to remain wrapped up within his arms until the end of the Realms.

Vali came tearing out of his room less than a second later but halted when he saw his parents. His expression changed to annoyance.

"I thought you already said goodbye. Why do you have to do it again? Are you leaving yet, Mother? I know Father won't leave to go visit until you go too . . ."

Sigyn glanced up to her husband.

"I can see how much I am wanted here."

She pulled completely away.

Loki wasn't certain on what whim he decided to take her hand in his before she was too far. The slightly puzzled look on her face shifted to amusement when he lifted her fingers and pressed them to his lips. A quick glance to the side told Loki that Vali was having a very different reaction.

"Stay safe, _minn elskling_."

She rolled her eyes and pulled her hand away.

"Only if that was meant for my good and not just for _his_ reaction."

Loki couldn't help but grin widely at her.

When the door closed he looked back at Vali, who still had his tongue out in disgust and his nose wrinkled with displeasure.

"Are you ready, Vali?"

Instantly the contortions became a smile.

"I told you I was!" He reached out and grabbed his father's outstretched hand. "Do you think Grandmother will like what I . . ."

But through his son's excited chattering, just before they went back into the house, Loki saw a flash of light in the distance.

The Bifrost was opening . . .

* * *

_Ok, my co-author Chimaera Chameleon REALLY wanted to say something here:_

_(The part with Loki teaching Vali was our absolute favorite part to write thus far! Also __minn elskling__ literally means "my little love." In Old Norse "elska" translates to "love" and –ling is an affectionate diminutive in the Scandinavian languages (similar to the –ita/o ending in Spanish). Hope this brief language lesson was entertaining and not… well, a waste of time.)_


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

It was perhaps a mercy, Loki thought, that children as young as his son were so easily distracted.

Vali chattered on and on excitedly, not caring if he was heard or not by any other present in the room. He danced circles around his grandmother, a tireless stream of questions and answers that really didn't require anyone to answer him back. Shining eyes and an easy smile seemed permanently fixed on the boy's face.

How Loki wished he could reclaim that innocent time of his life again. A time with not a care in the world, except the difficulties that came with studying and practicing his magic.

Because now, when he most wished to forget the troubles of the universe and simply be with his wife and son, the universe decided to come crowding in, thick and fast, forcing him to draw his attentions away from what mattered most to him.

It was difficult to continue to smile at Vali when he turned his beaming face on him, difficult to hide the worry that he knew would show in his eyes if he wasn't careful. Vali was very clever, and even at four years old it was difficult to fool him or hide things from him. But Loki was determined to do so, if only to protect his son's innocence a while longer.

Frigga, for her part, seemed extremely pleased to see her grandson. No amount of questions or the dizzying pace of the Trickster's son could wear that smile from her face or drain her of laughter. Little wonder, Loki thought wryly to himself; Frigga had raised two boys herself, and therefore had plenty of practice with patience and stamina. She listened with interest as Vali told her again and again of the spells he had mastered, and applauded him enthusiastically with each passing demonstration.

"Father's taught me a new spell, Grandmother! Did you know that? He taught me how to make a shield to protect myself! Father!" Here he turned to Loki, holding his hand out, palm outward, as he had done earlier that day. "Let's show her, Father! Please?"

Loki laughed, shaking his head a little.

"Well, I suppose I cannot refuse a request like that, now can I?" A flick of his finger sent a tiny ball of golden light zipping through the air towards the excited boy. An instant later the glowing orb bounced off of the invisible barrier in front of Vali's hand.

Vali squealed in delight and raced back towards Frigga's arms.

"Did you see that, Grandmother? Did you see what I did?"

"Yes, I saw, Vali! Well done," Frigga applauded him, sitting him in her lap. "A Shielding Spell. You know, your father mastered that spell when he was nearly seven years old. I saw him use it on more than one occasion."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. But, it was usually only when he and your Uncle were roughhousing when they were younger. Thor did like to play rough as a child."

"I wouldn't call it playing rough so much as it was harassment," Loki broke in sourly. "He simply would never take 'no' for an answer."

"He was seven years old, Loki," Frigga chided lightly, "and one can hardly fault a boy at that age for simply wanting to show his strengths. You did so on more than one occasion."

"Am I as strong as my father was at my age?" Vali asked eagerly. Frigga laughed, giving the child a quick embrace.

"Of course you are, Vali! I have said it before, but you and your father are nearly identical – both in strength and in character."

"No one is stronger than Father!" Vali beamed. "His magic is stronger than anyone else's! I've heard people say so! And one day I want my magic to be just as strong as his!"

"If you keep practicing like this, then I think you will have your wish," Frigga agreed, releasing the boy to let him caper about the room again.

While Vali spent his energy on his one-sided conversation, Loki took the opportunity to sit closer to his mother and ask the questions that had been burning on his tongue since he and Vali arrived.

"What news have you heard from Alfheim?" he murmured quietly.

"Loki, what do you-?"

"I know you had been in council with one or two others from the court before we came here," Loki interrupted, careful not to attract Vali's attention. "They no doubt told you something of what has taken place on Alfheim. Now what is it?"

Frigga paused before she went on, leaning her head closer to her son's and keeping her voice so low that even he had to strain his ears to hear.

"All I know is nothing more than rumors, Loki, so do not trust to everything that I may say here –"

"I don't think I've entirely trusted your word for some ten years now . . ."

"Loki, please, do not bring up the past here where your son may learn of it."

"Then tell me what you've heard, and I will be the judge of its truth."

Frigga sighed, but apparently decided not to rise to the bait Loki was tempting her with.

"Asgard has broken Muspelheim's grip on Lord Freyr's city, which I'm sure you already know. Of the six thousand soldiers that were sent to Alfheim, only four thousand have returned, many of them with grievous injuries – Tyr among them."

"Do the healers expect him to live?"

"He will live, I am sure . . . but he has lost his right arm in payment for his victory."

Loki snorted softly.

"Wounds always suit a warrior better than the likes of myself. I am certain that Tyr will be quite pleased with the accolades he shall receive from them."

"Those accolades might well have been your own as well, Loki, had you chosen to go with him to Alfhiem."

"Yes, but then I also would be lame with a stump for an arm – and I have not yet encountered a spell that will allow me to regrow a wound such as that."

"Loki, do not speak like that about the soldiers of this realm. They have paid dearly for this victory, and they should be praised by us, not scoffed at."

"And is what I do for Asgard not enough?" Loki couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I have played my part for the protection of this realm, and what has been my reward?"

"Your reward is a wife who is pleased at your return, and a son who is so enamored with you that he will never find fault with you."

Loki looked at his mother, saw that her eyes were as soft as her voice. She smiled, taking his hand in hers.

"Is that reward not enough for you?"

"What are you talking about, Grandmother?" Vali called suddenly from across the room. He had stopped speaking to himself, realizing that no one was listening, and was now standing across from them with his hands on his hips and a severe look in his eyes.

"Nothing, Vali," Frigga answered him easily.

"You were whispering something," he replied sternly. "What were you talking about?" He paused, suddenly looking uncertain. "You weren't arguing, were you?"

"Of course not!" Frigga sounded shocked at the very idea. "Why would you ever think that?"

"Because Mother and Father were arguing earlier today," the boy replied miserably. "I don't like it when people argue . . ."

"Why, what were your parents arguing about, Vali?" Frigga asked gently as her grandson climbed back up into her lap.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "I didn't hear all of it. But Mother was upset."

Loki smiled, patting Vali's knee.

"I told you, son, your mother was only worried because I left home so suddenly."

"I still don't like it when you both are upset," Vali replied miserably. "It means I have to go away for a while until you're done."

"Well, your mother and I have put it behind us, Vali," Loki said. "Won't you put it behind you as well?"

Vali seemed to consider this. Then after a long pause, he looked back up at his father with a slightly-disgusted face.

"Only if you and Mother stop saying good-bye like that. It's vile."

Loki burst out laughing, flicking Vali's arm teasingly.

"Someday, when you're older, you won't mind so much, Vali, I promise you that."

Footsteps outside the room drew all eyes to the door. A moment later a palace guard stepped over the threshold and bowed.

"Prince Loki, your father requests your presence immediately in the Throne Room."

Loki had been expecting this. He nodded to the man without rising or making a move in his direction.

"Tell the Alfather that I will join him shortly. You may go."

"Father, you're not leaving too, are you?" Vali asked desperately once the guard had left them alone again. Loki sighed, picking his son up in his arms.

"I'm sorry to say I must, Vali. As your mother said this morning, no one says 'no' to your Grandfather."

"Can I come too?"

"Not this time, I'm afraid." Loki smiled, trying to wipe the depressed, disappointed look from Vali's face. "Stay here with your Grandmother and keep her company. I will be back for you before long."

"Promise?"

Spoken like his mother's son. Vali was more like Sigyn than Asgard would give him credit for.

"I promise, son. I will be back in a few hours . . . and hopefully by then the healers will no longer need your mother's help." He gave the child a quick squeeze before setting him down again.

As he turned and walked out the doors, he heard Vali's excited chatter begin again as Frigga distracted him with more questions about his magic . . .

* * *

The doors of the throne room swung open soundlessly, opening up onto a vast emptiness. Loki stepped through with an easy stride, mentally preparing himself for this conference. To his annoyance, most of the court was still assembled, crowding around the foot of the dais like a cluster of nervous beetles. Their constant puzzling and twittering was like a low ringing in his ears: annoying and bothersome. Why the Alfather kept these parasites around him as if they were needed for the good of the kingdom, he would never understand.

The crowd became still once they noticed the Prince was approaching. They parted away from each other to let him through, but their eyes spoke to the displeasure they could never say aloud. Ordinarily, Loki would have stopped to banter with the fools for a time, but he knew that the Alfather's patience was thinner than usual. So he waited, his foot on the bottom step of the dais, for Odin to take notice of him.

It did not take long. Not five seconds went by before Odin looked down and silently motioned for Loki to come closer. Climbing up slowly, Loki fought to keep the smirk off his face as he watched the court shift restlessly behind him. Try as he might, he simply couldn't help feeling pleased when he saw the results of his Trickster half. Sometimes it was simply too easy to cause trouble.

He halted about ten paces from the Alfather, waiting for the other to speak. When he did, it was in a voice quite different than the one Loki had been expecting.

"My lords, we give you leave to depart. The Prince of Asgard and I must have some private conference."

There was a surprised murmur from the crowd at Loki's back, surprise that he felt himself. Never before had he heard of the court being dismissed like this. What could the Alfather possibly have to say to Loki that he could not say in front of the court?

When the parasites had finally filed out of the room and the doors closed behind them, Odin then turned to the only others still present, standing quietly beside the huge gilded doors.

"Guards, leave us."

Footsteps retreating, and then silence reigned once again.

There was a long moment of silence.

"You must know why it is I wished to speak to you alone, Loki," Odin began quietly. The Trickster felt his back stiffen involuntarily, his customary cold and sarcastic sneer fixing itself automatically on his face.

"From the tone of your voice, you sound as if you mean to reprimand me."

"That is what I wished all else to believe – and that is what you shall say if any ask what was spoken of in this council." He paused, eyeing Loki with an unreadable look. "Sigyn is with the healers?"

A nod was the only response Odin received to that obvious question.

"And your son?"

"I left him with my mother, not knowing exactly why you had summoned me."

"That is well. None – not even your family – must know my purpose in meeting with you."

"And what _is_ your purpose, Alfather?"

Odin was silent for a moment, watching Loki with a look akin to . . . was it remorse?

"Even after ten years, you still cannot bring yourself to forgive a father's past deeds."

"You are NOT my father," Loki snapped, Odin's words pricking at an old, very painful wound. "You never _were_ my father. Why should I call you by that name, simply because it will ease your own conscience?"

"Loki –"

"I cannot believe you summoned me here merely to school me in new titles for yourself," Loki interrupted, crossing his arms impatiently. "What is your purpose, Alfather?"

Again, there was a long moment of silence, and Loki saw the hurt and concern slide away from Odin's gaze.

"My purpose is what it has always been. To protect Asgard above all else."

"And what is that to do with me?"

"In this case . . . everything." Odin rose from his throne and slowly climbed down the last of the steps separating the two of them, hands clasped behind his back. "Surtur has suffered a defeat on Alfheim, yes, but it is only a minor setback. His ultimate purpose is still intact, I am sure you understand that."

"Anyone who thought differently would be a fool."

"He knows not where you hid the Flame at the moment, but I'm sure he suspects that it will eventually return to rest here in this city."

"Naturally."

"Measures must be taken to ensure Asgard's safety..."

"If there is a point you are attempting to make then make it quickly, Old Man."

"If you would simply _be silent_, my son, I will make it," Odin said quietly. Quietly, but with just enough of an edge to shut Loki's mouth. "If you were my elder son, I would instruct you on the need for patience. You, of all people, should be well versed in its importance."

Loki stifled a sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The audacity of this man to instruct _him_ on patience . . .

"I am listening, Alfather," he forced through gritted teeth.

"Surtur will not cease until Asgard has succumbed to his rage. If he continues as his previous actions promise . . . Asgard will fall." Odin paused for a moment, and Loki forced himself not to succumb to the impatience stiffening his posture. If the Alfather was going to ramble on in this way, he may as well leave; he would much rather be with his family than stand here waiting. "Even with every ally of this realm willing and able to come to our aid at a moment's notice, it will not avail us against an enemy such as Surtur. He is too cunning and too determined to be deterred by a mere show of force. His true weakness lies with his pride and his overconfidence; he is certain he will prevail against us . . . and there lies our only hope. Such a weakness cannot be overcome by swords and spears . . . but through words and deception –"

"No." Loki cut him off.

Odin's gaze hardened, and there was something deadly in his gaze now.

"You reply as such to your King?"

"I know what you are thinking. Who better to turn traitor on his home? Who better to convince all the Realms of his true. _Monstrous_. Heritage? Who better to join the side of destruction than the Wicked Loki?"

"It is for the salvation of Asgard-"

"Let Asgard burn!" Loki bellowed, his impatience now giving way to bitter rage.

"You do not mean that. You are not nearly as committed to such destruction as you would have others think."

"And yet you would have the Realms think such of me anyway! For your own _noble_ purpose."

"I would. You would not consider Asgard's salvation a noble purpose then?"

Loki began to the floor, fists clenched at his sides. He felt the need to move, to still the fury building inside him, before it overwhelmed him and burst out at this man who in one breath claimed to love him as a father . . . and then send him straight into the mouth of the dragon.

"The same Asgard who has never believed anything of me than ill? The same Asgard who would leave me to rot? The same Asgard who calls me coward, and fiend, and liar? The very same Asgard who has _never NEEDED _to know the true parentage of the second son, the truth of the shameful Sorcerer-Prince?"

"-The same Asgard that your wife and son call home."

Loki's steps hitched, his anger evaporating, replaced by something much deeper, much more profound . . . something much closer to his heart.

Sigyn.

His wife: the only one who had never given up on him, despite all he had thrown at her, everything she had faced for his sake… she was everything he had never expected another could be for him.

Vali.

His son: his child, his own flesh and blood, who was unable to see him as anything but Hero. Friend. Father. Something he had never thought possible, not after so much pain and grief . . .

His family.

Asgard cared not if he lived or died.

But _they_ made him grateful to be alive, to exist.

And were they not . . . of Asgard?

His own tattered reputation or the lives of the two people he would give anything for?

Was there even a choice to make?

"What would you have me do?" came his quiet reply.

"I would have you feign to join forces with Surtur, to aid him in his planned assault on this world. You are the only one with the cunning and intellect to match his lust for victory."

"And the only one that both sides would truly believe could turn traitor?" Loki muttered bitterly.

"I did not say that."

"Yet that is what you meant."

"It may be true, but it is beside the point. You must convince Surtur – through any means you find necessary – that his victory will be assured if he assaults Asgard, and specifically if he faces me alone."

"You truly think that monster will believe what I tell him?"

"Once you gain his trust, yes I think he will."

"And how is that to be accomplished?" Loki asked doubtfully.

"That, I will leave up to your discretion."

Loki fell silent, eyes lowering to the steps before his feet, his mind already racing with plans and counterplans and schemes so faceted and complex there was nothing left to spend on speech. Despite his protests, he knew deep down that the Alfather's plan was solid; Loki alone was the only one in the Nine Realms that _everyone_ would believe capable of betraying his homeland. He had done it numerous times in the past. And it was also true that there was no one – _no one_ – who could ever contrive a more complicated, twisted, convoluted scheme for the purpose of bringing about another's downfall.

"Even if I am able to gain his trust and convince him to come here," he asked after a long pause, "how can you possibly hope to defeat him? You have tried twice before and have never been truly successful."

"Before I had only the use of weapons meant for Asgardians. Nothing to face the heat of Muspelheim's fire. A single mild winter here would do little but amuse him . . . but the cold of a thousand winters from a Realm of ice . . . may extinguish his flame at last."

Loki's eyes locked with Odin's gaze.

"The Casket of Ancient Winters. Can you even wield such a weapon, Alfather?"

"I must, Loki. There is no other who would dare."

Loki snorted in derision, folding his arms across his chest again.

"You conveniently choose to forget my heritage when it benefits you."

"I would not have you carry every burden, Loki. As king I must take the heaviest responsibility on myself. Besides," he added, holding up a hand to stop Loki's obvious retort, "if I laid it upon you to defeat Surtur yourself . . . there would be a great chance you would never see your family again. And that is a punishment I could never lay upon you."

The thought of his family once again put things in perspective for Loki. Why should he care that he was not the one to defeat Asgard's enemy? It only meant he would be able to return to his family that much sooner.

But in order to orchestrate these events, it would certainly mean his wife suffering ridicule in the wake of his "betrayal." After all she had been through, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving her in the dark as to where his true loyalties lay . . .

"Will you allow me to tell Sigyn?"

"This is to be of the utmost secre-"

"Permit me to rephrase," Loki interrupted, looking up at the Alfather with eyes of steel. "I _will_ tell my wife why it is I am leaving. Asking you is nothing more than mere formality."

Odin sighed wearily.

"Very well, my son. Only if she tells no other."

"You need not fear that, Alfather," he quipped lightly. "She is nearly as good at keeping secrets as you are."

* * *

"Loki, what is _wrong_ with you? You have been trodding on my heels for the past two hours!"

"Am I not allowed to spend time with my wife?" he grinned at her.

"Not when all you do is _pester_ her," Sigyn countered crossly, turning away from his smiling face and back toward stripping the bed of dirty linens, her last one before she needed to remake the row. She was unprepared for a pair of arms winding themselves around her waist and pulling her flush with the tall body they were attached to. A cheek laid itself along the crown of her head and she heard Loki sigh, the almost unheard hum at the end making it a rare one of contentment.

As busy as she claimed herself to be, she couldn't resist leaning back into his embrace and closing her eyes.

"You work far too much and far too hard, my little healer," he whispered teasingly.

"Just because all you ever do is play . . ." She smiled when he scoffed.

"I perfect my techniques! It is hardly my fault you chose to mire yourself and your magic in something so very dull . . ."

"I love my work, Loki." She reached up to cover his arms with her own. "My duties to Asgard are important, and vital to her well-being."

He was silent a moment.

". . . do you not love me, also?" However lightly he said it, she still heard the uncertainty. She turned in his grip to face him. "Are your duties to your husband not also important?"

"You are _always_ important, Loki," she worked to reassure him, "and I love you more than I have or ever will love another. I _promise_ you."

The delight in his eyes when she said that sent her heart into her throat.

"And I promise _you_, as the Trickster and Mischief-Maker of the Realms, as the Prince of Asgard, you are more important to me than any other thing in existence."

Sigyn knew though, despite the truth in his declaration, despite the way his eyes nearly glowed with elation, that he had a purpose in everything, in every word, he said.

"What's wrong, Loki?"

"I . . . just want to spend time with you. Will you let me? Please?"

How could she resist – even knowing that Vali must have learned it from him - when he looked at her with that smile?

* * *

When Eir came in to ask Sigyn how she was managing she came across the Prince and the Healer with their arms wrapped tight around each other, foreheads pressed lightly together, and two matching joyous smiles. She cleared her throat just as the tallest of the pair was bending his head and she stretching up.

"One would think you secret paramours rather than working towards your – what is it, ninth? _Tenth?_ – year as a wedded pair. How you have produced only Vali these past five years is beyond me . . ."

"I apologize Eir," Sigyn spoke as if chastised. She did not, however, move from the embrace. Nor had her smile faded. "I will try not to let it interfere with my duties."

"That wasn't for you, my dear. _His majesty_, however, is distracting my apprentice from her duty."

"What? Making beds? If you are so worried about that-" he removed one arm from around Sigyn and twirled the hand delicately. Next to them the bed Sigyn had been stripping was bare. A snap of his fingers later and the row of beds were remade, as neatly as Sigyn had ever done.

"There. It is done." He turned his beaming smile on the Head Healer. Sigyn fondly shook her head at him. Eir frowned before whirling away, waving her arm at them.

"As you will, then. Just no more scandalizing my patients!"

She heard snickering and quiet giggling behind her.

Very un-princely behavior – which she couldn't even mention to his parents in hope of the behavior ceasing.

* * *

If any could have seen the Prince of Asgard and his Healer wife as they tore through the palace they would have found themselves wondering if someone had replaced Asgard's royalty with children, so carefree was their gait in the aftermath of battle.

Loki wouldn't have cared, not with the smile on his Sigyn's face.

Sigyn wouldn't have noticed, not when compared to the joy with which her Loki lead them through the corridors.

It couldn't have been more than ten minutes before their feet trod upon the soft grass of one of the palace's numerous gardens and they slowed, panting lightly from the run but grinning delightedly.

Loki didn't let go of her hand as they continued through the garden at a more sedate pace. Sigyn didn't mention that despite the smile . . . his eyes became distant on occasion. Anxious. Contemplative. She let him keep his thoughts to himself.

Loki turned over in his mind all the ways to tell her.

Blunt?

Veiled?

Slowly?

Quickly?

How does one tell their family they must leave, must turn traitor to their home… must abandon them to the jeers sure to come?

He tried to keep his mind on the moment and enjoy this tiny instant he had managed to steal for himself. He tried to enjoy the warmth of the suns-shine and the green of the trees and the presence of Sigyn . . .

But what he had to tell her overshadowed it all.

Finally he halted. He slid his fingers from Sigyn's careful hold.

She stared at him. Waiting.

How could he leave her? Especially now . . . she needed him. She needed him to be there when she woke up terrified of the nightmares still haunting her. She needed him to tell her it was over, she had no reason to fea-

No, he stopped himself. She had _every_ reason to fear.

And he needed her. So very much.

He needed her _alive_.

"The Alfather and I have-"

She didn't speak, didn't move. She just watched . . . and waited.

"We have devised a plan to protect Asgard from Surtur. None but us were to know, although I told him I couldn't-" He took a deep breath. "I couldn't keep this from you . . ."

He paused, gathering his thoughts, trying to find the easiest way to tell her what he was . . .

"Surtur must be convinced of his invincibility-"

"Not too difficult, I imagine."

Her remark brought a tiny smile back to his face.

"No. I believe he needs little convincing of that. He must also attack Asgard directly, must engage Odin in battle . . . and he must do so when the Alfather is ready." Loki stopped. He tried to find the words for the next part.

Eyes of midnight contemplated his words… then narrowed in confusion.

"How . . . how can you ensure any of this? How will –"

"I'm leaving."

Shock painted her features. He kept his own composed despite the pain, the anger, his own shock at his words.

"Did you just say . . . ?" Sigyn seemed turned to ice, hand halfway to his shoulder, an expression of disbelief on her face.

" . . . yes," he whispered.

Her hand dropped to her side like a stone.

Then the peacefulness of the moment shattered.

"Why? How . . . ? How could you think . . . ?" She seemed incapable of coherent speech. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

"There is no other wa-"

She batted him away as angrily as she had that morning . . . maybe more so.

"There _has_ to be another way!" she snapped. "How can you _do_ this!? How can you just . . . _abandon_ us?"

"Abandon . . . ? Sigyn, you think I _want_ to do this?!"

"You did it scarcely half a day ago. What else am I to think?"

"Maybe that when I am ordered by the Alfather I have no choice in the matter!"

"That's hardly meant much to you in the pas-"

"My past is not the issue here!"

"Yes it is! It means _everything!_" Tears shone in her eyes as she screamed at him. "You can't do this! Not to me! Not again!"

He caught her wrist barely in time before it hit his face.

"Sigyn, please! Calm down and let me explain wha-"

"No! I need no explanation!" Tears coursed freely down her cheeks now as she tried to strike him again. "Vali needs you here! _I_ need you here! You can't leave!"

Loki wrapped his arms tight around her. Held her closer to him as she continued her assault. Her fists continued to pound his chest in desperate anger a moment before she twisted her fingers into his shirt.

She collapsed against him.

Loki slid down the trunk of the tree, Sigyn held in his arms.

He ran his fingers through her hair, held her tightly. He tried not to think on how much he would miss this . . . miss _her_. Her voice, her eyes, her heart. Even her tears, as terrible as that made him feel.

"Sigyn," he whispered gently, "the Alfather is sending me to entrap Surtur . . . but not now. Not yet."

"When?" he heard her muffled reply.

"I . . . do not know," he admitted. "Our plans are not firmly settled. There are many things to arrange first, preparations that must be made before my 'betrayal' takes place. When the Alfather is ready, he will let us know."

"Don't go, Loki." Her small hands clutched his shirt in that desperate way she sometimes clung to him when her nightmares became too much for her . . .

"You know that I must –"

"I know. But I . . . please don't."

"I don't want to, Sigyn . . . but I must. If only to keep you and Vali safe; I would do _anything_ to protect you – even this."

"I wish I could come with you . . ."

"No. I would never-"

"I know, Loki. I just . . . " She sighed, defeated and resigned. "I hate this."

But not him. Even after this . . . she didn't hate him.

"Fine," she murmured, sounding as if her anger was now spent as much as her grief. "If that's how it must be, then I suppose I must accept it."

Loki managed a smile, gently planting a kiss on her forehead.

"That's my Sigyn."

For a long stretch of time they merely sat at the foot of the tree, arms around each other, lost in their own thoughts. Loki's mind wandered from thoughts of the desperate times that lay ahead to a time long before any such cares or concerns weighed on his mind. A time when his only concern was finding one insignificant girl, hiding somewhere on the palace grounds. His mother had promised a great reward if he found this young protégé before anyone else did. The bitter disappointment he felt when the reward turned into a seemingly empty promise had taken the sweetness out of his achievement . . .

He looked down at the woman he held in his arms. He knew now that his mother had been wiser than even he suspected at the time. How was he to have known, when he first encountered the young Vanaheim healer, that the reward he had been promised was far greater than his wildest dreams? He had gained a close friend. A lover. A wife . . .

Sigyn stirred in his arms.

"Loki . . . what of Vali? As much as I dislike this I understand. But . . . I wouldn't even want him to understand . . . Not to mention what Asgard will say of us. The wife and son of the traitor."

Loki thought for a moment. It would not be safe for Vali to remain on Asgard, or anywhere near Asgard, for that matter. Try as he might, there was only one place he could think of, one realm that would be beneath Surtur's notice . . .

"You may not agree with me in this – it is hardly my first choice, either – but I have an idea . . ."


	6. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

His home had seen many changes in the seventy years since Captain Steve Rogers had disappeared in the icy waters of the northern seas. Buildings were taller, cars moved faster, and the people walking by were still strange to his sight.

But one thing, he was overjoyed to discover, had never changed.

The man known sometimes as Captain America strolled aimlessly through Central Park, smiling slightly at the sight of dozens of children laughing as they played.

Children were always the same, no matter the decade.

Steve let himself get lost in his memories of his own childhood – before the other children outgrew him, before his parents had died, before the war came and tore down the walls shrouding him in naïve innocence. He was so absorbed by remembrances of days-long-past that he nearly missed seeing a very familiar figure making its way down a sidewalk not too far from where he was walking.

He was extraordinarily tall, taller than most everyone Steve knew, dressed in a suit that would not be uncommon at a high-class socialite gathering but was conspicuously overdressed for Central Park at midday. Black hair grown much longer than Steve figured was the current custom and, even from a distance, green eyes glinted in the sunlight.

A jolt of recognition brought Steve Rogers to a halt.

_Loki._

It had to be!

He fumbled in his pocket a moment, trying to find the tiny phone SHIELD had given him for emergencies. He managed not to drop it and was trying to figure out the number pad when he glanced up, hoping his target hadn't caught wind of-

_Well, then._

The man Steve thought to be Loki had walked off the path and was in the company of a woman wearing vibrant purple and a diminutive figure who looked exactly like the supposed villain. All three bore smiles as bright as the cloudless sky.

Steve couldn't see a supervillain in the man.

All he saw was a father.

The memory of a warm summer day when his own father was home and his mother not too busy with her second and third jobs…

Slowly, Steve closed the phone and returned it to his pocket.

Who was he to interfere with something as innocent as a simple family outing?

* * *

"Pepper! Get over here – _NOW_!"

Pepper nearly dropped the files she was carrying when she heard Tony's voice.

She couldn't help it that her heart suddenly leapt into her throat. Her husband only used that tone when there was serious trouble. And unfortunately, being married to an Avenger, she heard it more often than she liked.

Within seconds she was standing next to him, wondering what on earth had made him suddenly so tense . . .

"Look, down there," he snapped, his finger pointing towards the far-distant street beside the base of the tower.

She did so . . . and saw nothing but cars.

"What . . . what exactly am I supposed to be looking at, Tony?" she asked.

"Right. There," he hissed, gesturing emphatically. "That cab that's just pulled up out front."

Pepper squinted, and finally caught sight of what Tony was looking at.

"Ok, so it's a cab," she shrugged. "Big deal; there have been cabs going past the Tower all day long. Why is this one so special?"

"_Look!_" he bit out. "Look who's getting out!"

Again, Pepper strained her eyes, squinting a little at the glare from the windows. At first she couldn't see what the big deal was. A man, dressed in a rather sharp-looking black business suit, got out of the passenger's side and stepped out onto the sidewalk. His black hair looked unusually long for someone in his profession; but outside of that Pepper couldn't see anything unusual about him.

Then the man looked up –

"Tony . . . is . . . is that . . . ?" Pepper could hardly believe what she was seeing.

"Loki." There was a storm brewing in Tony's eyes as he reached for his cell phone. "I thought things were getting a little too quiet around here. Ol' Fraud-Face is back for more butt-kicking, I guess. Hey, Fury, it's Stark. Listen, we've got trouble. Our favorite supervillain is back . . . No, not Doom, but almost as bad: Loki. He's just pulled up in a cab to the Tower – I don't care _what_ you're in the middle of! This is important! You need to –"

"Tony? Are you sure that's Loki?" Pepper asked suddenly. She was seeing something strange happening down there . . .

"Of course I'm sure, Pepper!" he said irritably, covering the mouthpiece on his smartphone. "The guy pitched me out of the window once, remember? I think I'd remember _any_ guy's face that close-up."

"But if that's Loki," she questioned, turning slightly to face her husband, "then who's the woman that just got out of the back of the cab?"

Tony frowned and looked back down, too. The man had just offered his hand to a young woman and helped her out of the back seat. She was dressed nearly as nice as he was, but even from this height the vibrant purple of her skirt and jacket stood out in stark contrast to the black asphalt.

Tony didn't seem the least bit phased by it.

"Probably the Enchantress – "

The thought died in his throat, and his chin dropped onto his chest.

" . . . Tony? He just kissed her," Pepper pointed out, trying to hide her smile. "I don't think that's the Enchantress."

He swallowed, and raised his phone back up to his mouth.

"Uh, Fury . . .? Lemme call you back."

The two of them watched the street for several minutes, neither one feeling the need to say anything. Both were trying to figure out if they should believe what they were seeing.

The other door of the cab opened –

"What the . . . ?" Tony's eyes went huge as they watched . . . a _boy?_ . . . scramble out of the car and traipse around the feet of the other two. His excitement and eagerness was obvious even from this distance, and Pepper couldn't help but laugh.

"Tony, I think you can call off the SHIELD alert," she chided, patting his arm. "If that _is_ Loki, I don't think he'd start trouble if his family was here."

"Oh, come on, Pepper! You honestly believe _that's_ Loki's family?"

"Well, Thor _did_ say that his brother got married ten years ago," she answered, walking away from the window. "Don't you think it's possible he'd have kids of his own by now?"

Tony snorted in derision.

"I kinda think Thor was a little wonky when he said that. He'd just gotten conked on the head by a Sentinel before that happened. No sane woman would marry an ego-maniacal power-crazy nutcase like that!"

Pepper turned and cocked her eyebrow at him. Immediately Tony's hands were out in front of him in appeasement.

"Hey, wait now, Pepper, that's not what I meant. I mean, I've got an ego problem and all, but I'm not power-crazy . . . well, I mean, not like _that_, and there's no way that you –"

"Tony," she warned, "you'd better shut up while you're ahead."

He bit his lip, looking from the window to her and back again distractedly.

"Yeah. Sure. Ok. Whatever you say, sweetheart."

Suddenly he turned away from the window and quickly walked over to his desk, fingers tapping on the keyboard before he'd even sat down.

"Jarvis, activate the remote security cameras in the lobby," he ordered.

"Screening for unwelcome guests, sir?" the computer responded with what Pepper almost thought was amusement. Jarvis' personality had certainly expanded quite a bit since the old days.

An instant later the remote screens projected over the surface of the desk, moving images from the dozens of security cameras on just the first floor. Tony tapped a few keys and focused in on one particular image, the camera facing the front doors. A moment later the three figures stepped into frame. The young boy they had seen was still capering about, chattering excitedly, but since there was no sound there was no way for them to hear anything. The two adults passed quite close by the lens, and Tony finally got a good look at the man's face –

"Yup. It's Loki, alright," he confirmed darkly. "Looks exactly the same as it did when he launched me out over the balcony. So who's the chick?"

As if in answer to his question, the woman handed something to one of the guards that had stepped in their way. A small, rectangular piece of plastic, with a very familiar symbol emblazoned across the front . . .

"Jarvis, pull up the data that's coming through on that ID card." Instantly a second screen came into focus, a woman's face appearing alongside a long data stream and personnel records. Jarvis' calm, clipped voice filtered through the speakers.

"Data processing . . . Confirmed. Subject identified as SHIELD Agent Eunice Walker, ID number Alpha-One-One-Five-Eight-Delta. Relevant history: served as Second Director of Research and Development Division. Level 7 security clearance, access granted to all restricted SHIELD files. Last known profile activity: research conducted with Dark Energies Research Division – specific focus: the PEGASUS Project. No recent Agent activity on file."

Tony sat back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face.

"The PEGASUS Project . . . but that was ten years ago . . ." He paused the image on the security camera, just as the woman looked straight into the lens, and placed it side-by-side the photo on the ID card. The pale blonde hair was much longer now . . . but the eyes, face – even the color of her clothes – "She looks exactly the same as she did then. How is that possible?"

"Lucky genetics, probably," Pepper smiled, standing just behind Tony's shoulder. He shook his head.

"I don't think so. There was no record of a Eunice Walker being with SHEILD before PEGASUS . . ." he tapped a few more keys. ". . . and Eunice Walker disappeared just days after Thor took the Cube and Loki back to Asgard. Didn't turn up again until two years later, when Loki was out here causing trouble again . . . and then look there; Eunice Walker vanished without a trace when Loki and Thor returned to Asgard." He glanced up at Pepper. "That can't be a coincidence."

"Ok. Say it's not. What can we do about it?"

"I dunno about you, but I'm gonna go ask the Big Guy what's up."

* * *

Never, in all his long years, had Thor the Thunderer ever felt out of place in a crowd.

From the time when he was a child, Thor was raised to be a leader. A warrior. A king. All of his schooling focused on how he should conduct himself amongst the people of Asgard – or any realm he found himself in. Politics and histories and battles – however tedious and even boring they might have seemed at the time – were always the focus of his life. When he reached the point when he finally understood what it meant to be king, to protect and guard the Nine Realms, all of his focus and feelings changed.

With the appearance of the Tesseract, Thor had formed a close bond with the other warriors from Midgard. Their bond had grown close ever since that day they fought and defended the people of Earth on the streets of New York. He took his oath very seriously, and more often than not he found himself here, at the Stark Tower (or the Avengers Tower, as its builder fondly called it now).

Even then, balancing his loyalty to two different realms, Thor never felt out of place. He had a purpose.

He never felt out of place . . .

Until recently.

Slowly, so slowly that he almost did not perceive it himself, Thor noticed that he felt as if he was drifting away from those he used to feel so close to. The Avengers, while still true and loyal friends to the bitter end, did not feel like the second family he remembered so fondly. He did not feel as comfortable talking with them as he used to be, sharing his thoughts and doubts and struggles. So far he had been able to disguise his feelings, but he knew it wouldn't last.

Midgard was not his home anymore.

But he felt almost as distant from Asgard, his true home. Since the Fire Demon Surtur had been driven from the Bifrost Bridge, peace had reigned over the Realm Eternal. Life went on as it always had for years beyond count. Sigyn had given birth to Vali, their first son and his first nephew. But the joy he had felt upon the boy's birth, now almost five years ago, seemed like a far-distant memory. For a few brief months, Thor remembered feeling closer to Loki and Sigyn than he ever had before; Loki's anger and bitterness at the Crown Prince of Asgard seemed to have almost – _almost_ – melted away. Things were much as they had been when they were younger, brothers once more.

But now, Thor felt as if that time of peace had just slipped through his fingers. He and Loki had once again seemed to grow apart, hardly speaking to each other, barely acknowledging their mutual existence. Loki had become completely and utterly focused on his own family – Thor doubted if his brother had even set foot outside of Asgard for years now. And with Thor spending almost all of his time here on Midgard, his once-frequent visits with his nephew had all but ceased. He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen the boy.

For the first time almost in his entire life, Thor realized he felt . . . lonely.

Thor had never once struggled with such thoughts and feelings.

A warrior of Asgard should not feel so disconnected from those he pledged to fight beside. A Prince of Asgard should not feel inadequate and ineffectual.

But he couldn't help it. And there was no one he could talk to . . . not even Jane Foster. Even the woman he had once loved had drifted away from him.

And because of these feelings of distance and loneliness, Thor often found himself wandering the Palace of Asgard or – more recently, the Tower – alone, allowing for no company other than his own thoughts.

It was on one of these occasions, as he stood beside a sweeping balcony window overlooking the city of New York, that Thor's thoughts were interrupted by voices in the hallway behind him.

"Is this where Uncle Thor and his friends, the Warriors of Midgard, dwell, Father?"

"I wouldn't exactly call them warriors . . ."

"Loki, please. This is your son you're speaking to, so there is no need for your sarcasm."

Thor's head whipped around, uncertain whether to believe his own senses or not. Sure enough, within seconds he saw three very familiar figures pass by the open door.

Loki and his family . . . on Midgard . . . but why?

The God of Thunder felt himself drawn towards the open doorway, watching as the three figures slowly walked away from him down the hall. Before he could stop himself, he heard his voice calling out.

"Loki?"

The tallest of the three spun around at the sound of his voice, a faint almost-glare of recognition written across his features. The woman turned as well, her smile broadening when she realized who had called.

The smallest figure immediately turned and raced back down the hall towards him, a beaming smile of his own on his face.

"Uncle Thor!"

There were thousands of questions Thor wanted to ask his brother in that moment – why he was here, where had he been, what was happening on Asgard – and the like. But there was no time to ask anything because his young nephew threw his arms around his neck, squealing with delight, and for the moment Thor forgot everything else.

* * *

Tony ignored everything Pepper said.

She had a feeling that Loki was not, in fact, here to cause trouble, or was bringing trouble with him. Her husband simply refused to believe that the Trickster of Asgard was not up to some scheme or other.

So Tony stormed into their family's living room, Pepper following in his wake, and stomped across the room toward the Trickster, glancing once at the unusual image of Thor throwing a boy toward the ceiling but not letting himself be distracted.

"Hey you! Yeah you, Mr. Fancy Pants. Just what do you think you're doing breaking i-"

Tony stopped midsentence. He whirled around to where Thor was busy throwing the tiny, squealing, dark-haired child into the air. Tony stared.

"What the h- Would someone tell me who de-aged Loki?"

"And I thought you were supposed to be a genius, Stark. I am standing right here."

Tony regarded the Asgardian with an ugly expression.

"You sure Doom didn't clone you then?"

Loki's look was equally unpleasant.

"Are you blind? Your age is showing, Stark."

"Yeah, you _wish _you looked this good!"

"If I looked like you I wouldn't need to be _thrown _through a window. I'd do so voluntarily-"

Pepper stepped forward, hand outstretched, to the other woman in the room.

"Pepper Stark. I apologize for my husband, Ms . . . Walker is it?"

"Sigyn Birgirdottir, and I am afraid it is I who must apologize for intruding upon your home."

"Hold it, Lady," Tony interrupted, briefly directing his glare at the Asgardian woman. "Lemme deal with Tall-Dark-and-Demented over here."

"Please, be more specific, Stark," Loki drawled, "or you will confuse everyone in this room."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Have you occasioned to pass a mirror lately? For you seem to be describing your-"

"No. Nuh-uh. I am absolutely, one-hundred percent _nothing_ like yo-"

"And _I_ am nothing like you, Stark. So, be more specific in your statements."

"Sorry, buddy," Tony smirked. "I hear you talking, but I don't understand Idiot-speak."

"Still quite the charmer, Mr. Stark," Sigyn broke in, stepping forward and offering her hand. "I am pleased you have not changed all these years."

Tony broke off his rant against the Trickster and took a good long look Sigyn. He shook the extended hand, but his eyes were narrowed slightly.

"Sorry . . . have we met?"

"Once or twice, and only briefly. I was working with your SHIELD comrades when the Tesseract first came into your hands."

Tony's eyes lit up, and a very different – and rather silly – smile spread over his face.

"Oh, yeah; _now_ I remember you. You called me a . . . what was it exactly? 'Boorish rake,' I think it was."

Loki snorted in amusement, drawing Tony's glare back to him.

"I am surprised you would remember that," Sigyn replied evenly.

"Hey, your face with that insult is kind of hard to forget," he said smoothly.

"For your own sake, Stark, I suggest you try. Harder than you've ever tried before," Loki growled, the glare on his face becoming less playful and more dangerous.

The escalating argument was happily cut short by a squeal from across the room.

"Higher, Uncle Thor!"

Pepper saw Sigyn smile at the child's outburst and recognized it as only a mother would.

"What's your son's name?"

"Vali. He just turned four years as you would count them."

"Howard is nearly the same age. So much like his father."

"Yeah, that's right," Tony agreed. For a brief moment his smile looked proud rather than taunting, and Pepper almost – _almost_ – thought that maybe her husband would behave in a mature manner for once. "I've got an awesome little spawn that – hold up, that reminds me. _Who_ was out of their mind enough to let a wacked-up excuse for a deity breed?"

"Tony . . ." Pepper warned, narrowing her eyes at her husband.

He ignored her – as usual.

"No, seriously what were they smoking . . . and where can I get it?"

Pepper sighed. It was too much to hope for.

"Tell me, Stark, does Midgard have a cure for your swollen head yet?" Loki snapped back. "I was quite concerned during my brief time enjoying SHIELD's hospitality, but I was tremendously relieved to learn it was merely a genetic deficiency and not something . . . catching."

"Loki, I believe that is enough," Thor suddenly broke in, setting the child gently on his feet. Vali immediately ran to Sigyn, clutching her hand and looking uneasily at the adults. "There is no need for you to sow discord wherever you go . . . especially not among friends."

"If this is your example of the 'friends' you have made here on Midgard," Loki replied, smirking at Tony, "then perhaps you should return to Asgard while you remain relatively uncorrupted."

Stark was beyond livid.

"HEY! Listen Prima Donna, I've had just about enough-"

"Daddy? Why are you yelling? Are there bad guys you need me to fight?"

Every eye suddenly turned toward the small voice that had spoken. A small boy had appeared around the corner of the room, looking a bit unsure of all of the adults that were present.

Stark's eyes flashed back at Loki, then returned to the little figure behind the door.

"Yeah, Howard, I do," he said mischievously. He pointed at Loki. "Why don't you beat up on this no-good son-of-a –"

"Tony!" Pepper snapped, finally losing her temper.

But the boy instantly forgot about the adults' argument when he caught sight of Vali standing between the legs of his mother and father. His eyes brightened, and he trotted over to the Asgardians until he stood in front of Sigyn's feet.

"Hi! I'm Howard. What's your name?" he asked boldly.

Vali bit his lip and ducked behind Sigyn's leg.

"Don't be shy," she said encouragingly. The boy looked up at his mother before peeking his head around her skirt.

"Vali," he replied, a little embarrassed.

The young Stark boy smiled and grabbed the Asgardian's hand.

"Come on, let's go play!" he said brightly.

Though Vali was the taller of the two, he let himself be led away from his parents and towards the wide glass window that overlooked New York. In the middle of the carpet lay what looked like a piece of StarkTech, a tiny device that Tony had made for his son some months ago.

Howard picked up a child-sized remote from the floor and sat down, cross-legged, in front of the toy. Vali imitated his new friend and sat next to him on the carpet.

"Watch what I can do," Howard told him. With the press of a button on the remote, the toy came to life, hovering six inches from the ground with a gentle hum. The human boy's face took on a serious look as he touched another button – and the toy morphed its shape into a miniature version of the Iron Man suit his father wore. It spun around the boys' heads in a dizzying circle before coming to a halt between them, hovering once more, waiting for another button to be pressed.

Vali looked intrigued. His head tilted on one side, eyes narrowed at the device as if he didn't understand it. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he scrambled to his feet and reached a finger out to touch it.

Instantly, with a sharp pop the toy replicated itself into six individual suits. Vali waved his hand in a smooth, sweeping arc, and they soared in formation up to the high ceiling and back around to the middle of the room. He clapped his hands once, and the toy reformed into a single device.

Howard squealed, clapping his own hands in delight.

"Again! Do that again!" he said excitedly.

Vali grinned sheepishly and turned back to the toy.

Pepper suddenly noticed that Sigyn's expression became much grimmer, a kind of sadness filtering through the mask of happiness she seemed to always wear. The Asgardian turned to face the Midgardian, dark eyes serious.

"Mrs. Sta-"

"Pepper."

"Pepper . . . I . . . I have a favor to ask of you and your husband if you will permit it . . ."

Pepper felt an odd feeling start in her stomach.

"Of course, if I can. What is it?"

Sigyn's mouth opened, hesitated, then slowly closed it again as she gathered the right words to say. Pepper waited patiently; it wasn't often that an adult around here decided to choose their words so carefully. Sigyn's eyes looked over at her son for just the briefest moment of time.

"Thor has told us a great deal about your generous nature and . . . if it is not too much to ask . . ." She paused, and the odd feeling in Pepper's stomach suddenly expanded into concern.

"Sigyn . . . what's going on?"

The other woman's gaze turned to the ground, as if she didn't feel sure about meeting her gaze anymore.

"I cannot say much but . . . I feel certain that before the month is out . . . Asgard will be engulfed in war."

Pepper's expression was somewhere between shock and incredulity.

"And . . . is Asgard not safe enough? I thought it was one of the strongest places in the universe?"

"This . . . this war may be enough to break her. And I would rather have Vali not be there should our home fall. I wish for him to never know such terror for this part of his life at least." A frown stretched her mouth into a pale, anxious line. "Therefore . . . if it is not too much to ask . . . would you and your husband be willing . . . willing to . . ."

"You want Tony and me to watch Vali for you."

Sigyn's shoulders relaxed, and Pepper heard a small sigh escape from the other woman's mouth.

"I confess that is exactly what I would wish."

"Of course we will. I think we'd be hard pressed to refuse, especially since the boys are already getting along so well."

"Thank you, Pepper. You can hardly understand my relief to hear that. It is . . . such a balm to know he will be safe."

Sigyn's last remark caused a tiny spark of something to alight within her: the instinct of a mother, perhaps, who recognized the plight of another parent. Pepper reached out and drew Sigyn close.

"Of course. We'll keep him safe for you. Or I will, at least. Tony may try to create armor for him and take him out flying . . ."

A tiny sound that may have been a laugh or a sob was forced from the Asgardian woman. But Sigyn's gratitude was cut off by rising voices across the room.

"-ith your unstable mind and flagrant disregard for anything resembling sense."

"Hold on. I'M unstable? Buddy, you're just a giant walking bottle of Prozac! Freud could write a whole _library_ on your screwed-up ego!"

"Oh, come off it Man of Something-That-Is-Definitely-Not-Iron."

"How would _you_ know that?"

"I crafted a spell before I met you, meant to turn iron to something decidedly less sturdy. Imagine my shock when it did nothing."

"Wait. _You_ messed up? 'Cause of _ME?_ Take that, Fury! I did something you neve-"

"Should we let our husbands continue their little love-spat?" Pepper asked Sigyn. "Or do you think we should step in?" Sigyn couldn't stop a smile from forming.

"If yours is anything like mine then they will _never_ cease. For the sake of all the Realms I believe we must."

* * *

Thor had never breathed a word of this thought to any other being, but he had long found a great many similarities between his brother and the iron warrior. Watching his son and Loki's young boy as they played together only made the likeness even more prominent. Thor believed that, if past circumstances had never taken place, Loki and Tony Stark might have been comrades . . . perhaps even friends. Their sons were proof of that idea.

Thor was so busy watching the two boys that he almost missed the hand that gently touched his arm.

"Thor," Loki murmured, too softly for any other to hear. "There was more to my visit to Midgard than simply to amuse my son. I bring a message from your father –"

"_Our_ fa-," Thor corrected.

"_YOUR_ father," Loki snapped. "You must cease all of your activities here on Midgard –"

"My presence is needed here," Thor interrupted, a little sharply. "The Alfather knows this."

"The petty distresses of Midgard can wait!" his brother hissed. The God of Thunder turned to face the Trickster . . .

"Brother . . . what is it?" he questioned. There was something dark in Loki's eyes, something that he could only akin to apprehension . . .

"Asgard is on the brink of war."

Thor's heart froze, hands clenched, eyes narrowed.

"Surtur?" he asked stiffly. Loki nodded.

"He has somehow regained his mortal form and laid siege to Alfheim; the cost was extremely high."

"The Flame?" But Loki assuaged his fears with a short shake of his head.

"He was unable to reclaim it; it has been safely returned to Asgard."

"Then he will be coming for it."

Loki hesitated, his gaze briefly looking out over the room to where Vali and Howard were playing happily together, where Sigyn and Pepper were having their own serious conversation . . .

"Thor . . . you must return to Asgard with Sigyn and me. The Alfather will have need of you before long."

Thor hesitated.

"And . . . what of Vali?" he asked.

"We plan to have him stay here on Midgard. Away from the coming war."

Thor whirled to face his brother in alarm and anger.

"_Alone?!"_

Loki rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Of course, Thor – our four-year-old son will take out a lease on an apartment, find a job, and pay these . . . bills your Midgardians speak of."

Thor stared blankly at Loki, trying to determine if that was sarcasm or sincerity he heard in his voice. Brother or not, Thor could never quite determine if Loki was serious or not when he spoke.

Loki let the silence hang in the air for several moments before a wry, mocking smile twisted his face.

"That was a joke. Truly, you thought I was serious with that? No, do not answer – you would only embarrass yourself. We were hoping to leave him in the care of Lady Stark. I believe Sigyn will be asking her in a moment if she has not already done so."

Thor's eyes were still fixed on his young nephew, oblivious to the dangers that were surrounding him on all sides –

"You could not ask for a safer haven," he murmured.

He was expecting a sharp answer, or at the least a sarcastic look. But Loki was not looking at him anymore. He had caught Sigyn's eye; she had turned to face them, her only reply a nod of acknowledgment to her husband. Thor heard the barest hint of a sigh from his brother.

"That remains to be seen . . ."

* * *

"Vali?"

The boy looked up from where he was helping his new friend piece together bits of jointed metal. His mother and father stood side-by-side on the other side of the room.

He felt his spirits sink a tiny bit.

"Is it time to leave, already?"

Nervousness set in when neither of his parents spoke nor moved. It was several moments before his mother glanced up to his father and he saw that annoying thing they did to talk without actually saying anything. He hated that. He could never figure out how to get them to pay attention to him when they were staring at each other . . .

But he didn't have anything to worry about this time. After only a second or two of the Staring his father stepped forward and went down on one knee in front of him.

Vali rushed forward to climb up into his arms.

But his father did something strange.

He stopped him.

"Father . . . ?"

"Lady Stark has agreed to your staying here for a while. It is time for your mother and me to leave . . . but not yours."

Vali felt a tiny burn start in his throat but he pushed it back.

"I don't understand, Father."

His father's hand reached out to place itself atop his head.

"I trust you are old enough to understand this: Asgard will be in trouble soon. Everyone will be very busy and unable to watch you."

The burn returned but Vali managed to barely push it down again.

"But . . . I don't need to be watched much. I can take care of myself most days. I . . ." He turned pleading eyes to his mother. "I will be good. I promise . . ."

"Vali, it is not that simple," she answered. "You will be safe here, far safer than home in Asgard."

"What is going to happen? Can I help? I will if I can. Is that why? Is – is my magic not strong enough yet? I'll practice every day, Mother! If I do that then I'm sure I can be as good as Father . . . Then I can help . . ."

Vali couldn't stop the burn now. But he could stop the tears.

No Prince of Asgard _cried_ for something as small as his parents leaving for a short time.

But then, no Prince of Asgard had ever been left in a different Realm either.

" . . . You wish to help, Vali?" His father's voice broke through his concentration. He turned his eyes, full of hope, to him.

"Yes!" he cried, hanging on his father's next words . . .

"Then I need for you to learn everything about Midgard that you can. Will you do that for me?"

The burn cooled, the lump was replaced by something familiar. Something fresh and cool and powerful.

He was on a Quest. Of course!

That was why he couldn't return home yet. He had not yet found what he needed.

The Vali that was only four years old and ready to have his own adventure told his legs to stop shaking and his eyes to stop watering.

The Son of the Trickster recognized the sly deception and applauded.

The child of Sigyn the Healer knew what his father was saying and wished to hide away and cry.

But he knew he couldn't run. So there was only one thing he could do: he threw his arms around his father's neck and buried his forbidden tears in Loki's chest.


	7. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

The atmosphere of Asgard's great hall was at odds with the tense mood that permeated the rest of her borders. One could almost have called it joyful. Excited. But then of course, there were few who truly understood what was happening. Most of Asgard's citizens thought this recent conflict merely one more glorious victory for the Aseir, not the first battle in a long, bloody war to follow. But perhaps it was better so; perhaps it was a blessing that the ordinary citizens and the noble lords and advisors alike were truly oblivious to the danger that loomed over all of them like a cloud.

The Great Hall was filled with the mingling sounds of laughter and easy conversation. The early morning light poured through the wide open windows and glittered on the bronze floor. Bards sat in small groups along the far walls, busy composing verses to commemorate the recent battle. Courtiers, having found nothing better to do than sit and listen and gossip, gathered in packs to do just that . . . although truth be told they did far more gossiping than listening.

"Once again, the Trickster Prince has no verses worthy to be sung," one courtier muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the bards behind them.

"A pity Thor was not there to lend his strength to the battle," a second offered. "It would grieve me indeed if his name was not mentioned in some verse of this tale."

"Of course the Crown Prince will be mentioned, Bergr!" the first cried in a shocked voice. "The Mighty Thor was not on Alfheim simply because he was lending his strength and prowess in battle to another defenseless realm. But had he not been on Midgard he would have come to the aid of Alfheim, I am sure."

"Well spoken, Helgi," the third man said quietly. "One cannot say as much for his younger brother . . . I wonder how it is that the Alfather can stomach the thought of knowing such a man as Loki is his son?"

"Did you hear what some are saying now, Inge?" Helgi asked, an almost satisfied smirk on his face.

"There are too many rumors and whispers about him to remember each one spoken . . . nor indeed if a new one has been started," Inge put in, stifling a yawn. "But you might as well tell us and have done with it."

"The court was dismissed early the other day but the Alfather demanded his youngest remain. I hear he was severely reprimanded."

"I was there," Inge growled impatiently. "That tale can hardly be called a rumor if there were some who were witnesses to it. But I have one better: I hear the cowardly one ran to hide far from the mention of any battle. He disappeared for several days and no one knew where he or his wife had gone. He has hardly been seen since the battle . . ."

"Is that the best you have? I hear the traitorous sorcerer was the one to lead the demons to Alfhei-"

"Hush, Bergr! That is treason to speak such of the King's own family." But it was said through a grin that spoke more of a veneer of fear that hid perverse delight beneath.

"Still," Inge murmured, "the Alfather is holding another council now. What I would not give to hear what they are saying to the Prince now . . ."

* * *

"Five days ago Asgard faced for the first time in thousands of years the threat of Muspelheim." Odin stood before his present war council. Thor sat at his right hand, fists clenched tightly atop the table, and Loki several empty seats to his left, sullenly yet silently proclaiming he would rather be anywhere else. "But this is merely the first test of our strength and courage. We have won a battle, but not the war."

"Do you truly believe it will come to that, Alfather?" Sif spoke up from her seat on the other side of Thor. Odin acknowledged her with a silent nod.

"Surtur will not stop until he has exacted his revenge upon me. He believes the Aseir have lived too long at the top of the Nine Realms-"

"We have existed only for the protection of the Nine Realms!" Thor protested heatedly. "Since you first seized power and control of the universe, Father, the Nine Realms have lived in peace, unafraid of enemies such as Surtur who would use his power to destroy, not to protect."

"This I know Thor, and I am certain there are none at this table who would dispute that. But monsters such as he care not for the peace Asgard has brought. Destruction is their only goal." Odin paused as he looked at the assembled council. "Therefore, we must continue on under the assumption that Surtur will bring war to these very walls . . . and we must take every precaution to see that the people of Asgard survive his attack . . ."

As conversation drifted on, Loki's attention was interrupted by a soft rustle of movement to his right.

"Loki, I still do not understand why I am here," Sigyn whispered to him, so quietly that no one else could possibly have heard her. "My presence is needed rather in the Healer's House, not in a war council."

"You are a member of the royal family, and therefore have been asked to sit on these councils more than once," he reminded her in an equally quiet voice.

"Yes, but I have never accepted."

"And why was that?"

He felt a sigh brush past his ear.

"Because I have always felt it is not my place to speak on matters such as this. My word serves little purpose here."

"You are never without purpose, Sigyn. Never speak that way again," he answered sternly.

"Then may I ask you again: why am I here?"

It was Loki's turn to sigh. His searching hand found hers clasped in her lap under the table.

"Sigyn . . . very soon now I will be forced to leave Asgard – I don't know when. And until then, I would rather you be by my side than not . . . even in a place such as this." He could still sense her reluctance as she linked hands with him, and her face was equally doubtful. "Please, Sigyn, do this for me if for nothing else."

She softened . . . but only a little.

"Very well – for you if for nothing else. But I have only one condition."

"Mm?"

"Try to behave yourself. I am here to keep you company – not to keep you in line."

"Do I have your full attention, my son?" Odin interrupted loudly.

Loki let his gaze drift lazily back to the Alfather, slowly relinquishing his grip on Sigyn's fingers.

"Always, Alfather," he answered smoothly.

He saw Sigyn shake her head slightly out of the corner of his eye.

"Now," Odin went on, turning away from the pair of them, "our victory on Alfheim has showed the enemy one thing for certain: he knows now that in order to achieve his goal, he must first contend with the might of Asgard and its people. All prudence and council would tell us at this point to lay siege to Muspelhiem itself, to attempt to drive him to the point of desperation in the hopes he will make a mistake. But unfortunately, we can do little in the way of attack until we learn when and where Surtur plans to strike next. Surely he will not stay in his home realm for long. I feel certain he is still unsure of where his precious Flame is hidden, and he will seek to learn that knowledge before he makes any further stroke of war. This alone will buy us the time we need to prepare."

"Lord Eitri sent word this morning that he and his smiths stand at your disposal, Father," Thor spoke up. "Heimdal has agreed to hold the Bifrost open long enough for couriers to pass between our worlds and give us time to gather what armor and weapons the Dwarves will provide."

"Keeping the Bifrost open is too dangerous," Fandral interrupted from the far left of the table. "With all due respect, my friend, Heimdal alone cannot hope to protect the Bifrost for our use alone. Surtur has proved he is no fool; the more times we use that means of transport, the sooner he will discover how to breach it himself."

"Fandral speaks truly," Odin agreed. "Which is why in three days' time, the Bifrost will be closed . . . indefinitely."

There was a shocked whisper, then uneasy glances. Thor was the first to speak up.

"Alfather . . . with the Bifrost closed, Asgard will be cut off from the rest of the Nine Realms. If this land is assailed in short order, our allies will have no way of knowing if we call for aid."

"Much must be risked in war, Thor," Odin answered firmly. "The risk would be far greater for the innocents of this realm if somehow the Bifrost were compromised. And not all of our allies will have need of the Bifrost Bridge. Word could easily reach Nornheim if we are assailed."

"If you feel you can trust a witch such as Karnilla," Loki muttered sourly. "I, for one, trust her only as far as I can spit – fitting for a woman like her."

"The same could be said for you, _Your Highness_."

Loki never before had a stronger urge to fling a Curse at someone than at Sif in that moment. But he felt Sigyn's eyes watching him and kept his temper under control.

"As much as I dislike agreeing with Loki . . . I am afraid he speaks truly," Bragi said hesitantly. "Karnilla has made it quite clear she is unhappy with the thought of answering any calls for assistance in the future; she claims Nornheim has always been punished for the troubles of Asgard."

"She has brought plenty of trouble to her land on her own," Thor replied sharply. "Often it has been Asgard to respond to her call. Did we not save her realm from an invasion by Malekith the Accursed long ago?"

"I am afraid Karnilla prefers to keep a record of past wrongs rather than past helps," Odin agreed. "But regardless of her protests, she is no fool. If I summon her people to aid our own, she will come."

"But Nornheim alone will not avail us against all of the might of Muspelheim, should they ever come here," Sif pointed out, still casting ugly looks in Loki's direction.

"No indeed; which is why messages must be sent out to our allies swiftly. All preparations must be made before the Bifrost is closed. A messenger must be sent to Nidhavelir as soon as possible to instruct Lord Eitri to provide all assistance he can as swiftly as he can manage."

"Look not to me for such a task, Alfather," Loki interrupted, raising a hand dismissively. He had a strange feeling about the way Odin was looking at him . . . "It is no secret that the Dwarves and I have not always seen . . . eye to eye in most matters."

"A true warrior seeks only to serve the Alfather . . . in any capacity he deems necessary."

Loki snorted in derision, allowing his answer to be muttered under his breath.

"Sif, you would trip over yourself to scour the stables if he asked you –"

A swift kick from Sigyn snapped his mouth shut again.

"Be that as it may," Odin interrupted again, looking as if his patience was being strained to the brink of his tolerance, "I believe this task is better suited for Braggi and his gifted tongue. Warriors should not be wasted on journeys such as this. Better for them to prepare for the coming conflict here at home than abroad on foreign shores."

"Word has already been sent to the garrisons, Father," Thor spoke up again, fists clenched on the table. "Every man that can wield a weapon stands ready for your command."

"That is well, my son. But even with our scores of seasoned men, we cannot hope to hold out against Surtur's army of Fire Demons. Therefore, we must search the rest of Asgard for warriors that may be lying hidden. Send this command to the captains of the armies: scouts should be sent into every corner of Asgard, into every settlement, and every man – common or great – that bears the strength to lift a sword must come to this city. Asgard must call out her hidden strength, even if that strength be buried in a remote village far from this palace."

"Never before have you commanded a forced conscript of our people," Fandral whispered in a hushed voice. His surprise was shared by all at that table – save Loki. He had known this would be the Alfather's next course of action . . .

"When one is faced with their own annihilation, there is nothing he will not do to prevent it. Thor, I would have you oversee the new recruits; see that they are properly armed and trained. They must be ready to fight before many months have ended."

"Weapons and armor and enlisting every man within this realm to fight for its protection is all well and good, Alfather," Eir interrupted sternly from her place beside Bragi, "but force alone cannot hope to hold back the flames of Muspelheim forever – if Surtur is as determined as you say."

"Of course not, Eir," Odin agreed, "but I am not so blind as to place all of my hope and trust in arms alone. Asgard must have not only a strong offense, but a strong defense as well. Do I suppose rightly that you have trained all of your apprentices in the art of protection as well as healing?"

Eir nodded slowly, her silver eyes briefly finding Sigyn's. Everyone in Asgard knew that the palace healers were trained to use their magic not only in healing of wounds but also in casting protective spells over those in their charge. Loki had seen Sigyn's protection spell before, and he knew it to be far more powerful than most of the other healers, rivaled only by Eir herself. He had often tried to instruct her on how to make it stronger, but she very rarely had the desire to practice more. She had told him in the past that, since Asgard had not seen war for years beyond count, it was better for her to put more effort into her healing spells than her defensive wards.

He wished now he had pushed harder against her protests . . .

"Select a small group of those in your charge whose defensive wards are the most powerful and have them begin preparations to cast their spells over the palace gate and the main gate into Asgard through the Bifrost. The northern borders I am not as concerned with at this time; we will have warning of an attack from there long before they reach this city."

"A pity Surtur could not simply be patient enough to wait until Asgard had been lulled into forgetfulness," Loki broke in again, speaking to the ceiling rather than to anyone in particular. "If he had applied more subtlety, he might have stolen from Alfheim with his Flame and so then caught us unawares. Why is it creatures such as he simply cannot abide waiting?"

"The conflict on Alfheim might have been avoided entirely, my Prince," Sif put in stiffly, "had you not been determined to flaunt your trickery under Surtur's nose. Ever have you sought to bring chaos and trouble to the Nine Realms."

Loki leaned forward in his seat, not bothering to keep back the eager, mocking grin on his face. He could see Sigyn looking at him again, but he simply couldn't help himself.

"Ah, I see; the younger son of Odin is the source of every problem in the universe. And yet I seem to recall Thor almost always rushed off blindly to battle . . . with his band of fools following."

"You were often with us."

"Because I knew _someone_ must go to keep the lout from killing hims-"

"Brother. Sif. Cease your angry words. We gather to speak of war to come not the foolishness of old habits."

Thor's voice brought an uncomfortable silence to the room . . . silence that Loki would have broken with another cutting reply if Sigyn's hand had not gently brushed against his knee under the table. Even without words, his wife could stop him from opening his mouth and saying what was on his heart. With a great effort, Loki bit his tongue and held onto his sarcasm –

"No response from the Lie-Smith?" Sif glowered.

– Almost.

"My words would not be fit for a Lady's ears. And as my wife and the Lady Idunn are present I must refrain."

Sigyn's fingernails dug into his knee for a moment in reproof.

"Alfheim's fate was of your making, Loki," Sif went on angrily, her voice rising in her ire. "And when presented with the opportunity to correct your mistake you chose instead to stay here in safety, to force others such as Tyr to face the danger you should have faced yourself-"

"A valiant warrior you may be, Sif," Idunn broke in quietly, choosing to speak at last. "But perhaps it is best you do not meddle in policies and difficulties you do not understand. Is it any wonder to you that Loki should have refused to ride to war in Alfheim? His responsibilities lie with his wife and son as much as with Asgard itself."

Loki gazed at the other goddess in begrudging disbelief. Idunn had not said a word up until this point. The fact that she chose now to speak up on his behalf . . .

"Are you saying he was right, Idunn?" Sif asked in angered astonishment. "Do you believe Loki was in the right to outright refuse to lead his people into battle as any of truly royal blood would have d-!"

"I am not condoning his actions, Sif. But I am merely suggesting that you be more understanding towards the Prince's circumstances. He has other concerns to consider than merely the safety of Asgard as a whole."

"As her Prince, Asgard should be his first priority."

Loki was on his feet before he had any conscious thought of moving. Sif jumped up a moment later.

"Do not place all responsibility on my shoulders. Your precious Thor is gone from Asgard more ofte-"

"Shut your treacherous mouth, foul beas-"

"Loki! Sif!" Odin's voice thundered through the room. "Be silent! If you cannot hold your quarreling I will have no choice but to bar you from these Councils."

Sif continued to glare at Loki as she slowly seated herself. Loki only took his seat once she did, matching the glare. He felt Sigyn's disapproving stare burning the back of his head and tried to ignore it. Odin continued as if the argument had never broken out.

"Do you have healers available for such a task, Eir?"

"I have several in mind, yes, Alfather. I can have them ready to work in less than a day."

Odin nodded.

"Have them ready by the Monthly Feast. I would have them place the wards while at full strength." He turned back to the others around the room. "Are there any who feel I must consider other possibilities?" He let his gaze pass over Sigyn, Hogun, and Volstagg - who had remained silent during the conversation.

After a few moments of silence, the Alfather stood.

"Then this Council is dismissed."

The dismissal couldn't have come sooner. Loki was on his feet almost before anyone else, anxious to retreat from that hostile room and escape somewhere quiet with Sigyn, somewhere they could be alone to think –

"Loki, you shall remain. I would have words with you."

Odin's voice was like a thorn in his side. It took all of his self-control to stifle his disappointed groan and turn to face the Alfather.

He didn't bother saying anything; any protests or excuses would have been rendered useless. So he merely stood there, waiting, his hand once again finding Sigyn's fingers as they lay idle by her side. The rest of the council had also halted, watching the inevitable confrontation with expressions ranging from twisted delight to uneasy tension. Loki made sure to keep Sigyn close by his side.

Odin noticed Loki's actions and seemed to suppress a sigh of his own.

"It is my wish, Loki, that the two of us speak together in private."

"There is nothing you have to say to me that cannot be heard by my wife," Loki insisted stubbornly.

"I must still insist, my son, that only you remain."

Loki was about to protest again when he felt Sigyn's hand slide out of his. He turned quickly to her.

"It will only be a few moments, Loki. I will wait outside the door for you."

He tried to grab her hand again but she pulled away.

A tiny stab of pain, of betrayal, lanced through him.

"Sigyn...?" he whispered.

_After all these years... does she choose now to...?_

His thoughts cut off when he felt her fingers grasp his shoulders, pulling him down to lay her cheek alongside his.

"I will wait for you." She whispered firmly into his ear.

Then she kissed him.

Instantly all the thoughts of betrayal faded.

_His wife - usually so very aware of proper conduct and etiquette - was kissing him in full view of the Council, of the Alfather, her mentor, her _friends _. . . simply to reassure him._

Like countless times before he found himself wondering why Fate would give him someone like Sigyn.

He was not aware of how Sif looked away with a slightly nauseous grimace, of how Eir stared at them reprovingly, nor of his brother's thunderous chuckle as he grinned widely at the scene.

His world was the woman in his arms.

Too soon she pulled away, but the smile she gave him assured him that she could never break her word.

Silence reigned over the council chamber as Sigyn turned away from him and strode past the others that stood waiting near the opened doors. And only now did Loki see his brother's approving smile . . . and Sif's sickened expression. He felt a grin of his own slip over his shock.

The silence remained unbroken until the huge doors closed with an echoing thud.

* * *

As Sigyn took her place just outside the doors to the council chamber, it seemed to her that the silence was now awkward rather than subdued. Part of her knew her husband would be very proud of her; in her own small way, she had caused a bit of chaos that Loki himself often tried to weave over her friends. But she did not care. Loki had seemed frightened, unsure of either himself or of her desire to leave him and his father alone together. He needed her assurance that even in something as trivial as this . . . she would not desert him.

Thor, it seemed, approved as well. His smile was still beaming as he gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"That was well done, Sister."

"Thor, do NOT encourage her! Such a thing is . . . disgraceful and . . . and . . ."

"Friend Sif, there is no shame in a wife displaying her affection for her husband in any company. I say again, it was well done, Sigyn."

"It was ill-timed," Sif grumbled, turning now to face the young Vanahiem healer. "Why must you seek to appease Loki at every opportunity, Sigyn? Such behavior only encourages him to behave the way he does."

"Loki is a grown man, and nothing I say or do could possibly change habits that were formed a thousand years ago," Sigyn replied quietly. "Some would say it is my duty as his wife to assure him of my confidence in him."

"I believe Loki is having a bad influence on you, my friend," Sif countered – not harshly or cruelly – but her disapproval was evident in her tone. "He has ever sought to stride against the customs of Asgard and against all that is proper and wholesome and acceptable. I fear now he has passed this attitude on to you."

Sigyn couldn't help but laugh.

"If that is so, then I will accept it as my fate. But I do not think this will ever be. Regardless, I would ask a favor of you, friend Sif. Please, do not seek to antagonize my husband further by remarking on his past deeds or his present character. Is it any wonder that he should respond the way he does? Baiting him in that way is too tempting for him to resist responding."

"It is hardly my fault that Loki has such defects," Sif muttered, but she did not look directly at Sigyn when she said this.

"Please, Sif. As a favor to me, do not bait Loki's anger by questioning his courage or his resolve. None but myself will ever truly know all that Loki has sacrificed for this realm."

Sif hesitated, but when she looked back at Sigyn her eyes had softened a little.

"Very well. If only in consideration of our friendship, I will attempt to be civil to your husband. But by Heimdal's Eye, if he insults the warriors of Asgard once more, he shall taste more than a sharp word from me."

Sigyn smiled to herself; she could expect no less from a woman such as Sif.

"If I may, my Lady . . . ?" Fandral cut in quickly. "I noticed your earrings some minutes ago and was wondering as to where you acquired ones of such . . . curious design."

Sigyn reached up, her fingers brushing against one of the earrings.

"Oh . . . Loki gave them to me before we were married. Before he returned to Asgard, really. I found them again not long ago."

What she did not say was that, once Loki had told her he would be leaving and all the uncertainties the foreseeable future would bring, she had instantly searched her belongings in the hopes that something to declare her loyalty could be found.

They had been forgotten near the bottom of the jewelry box her mother had sent as a wedding gift. Sigyn had never been one for jewelry and as a Healer such things could be hazardous anyway. But these . . . Loki had given them to her many years previous. Back when he was still so very lost and refusing to return home. They had been a sign to her then that chaos was not the only thing he sought, that somewhere within his soul . . . he could return again.

Now they would serve as a sign to _him_.

"I believe he found them on Midgard," she said to the warrior attempting to keep discomfort from showing on his face.

"Ah . . ." he replied. "But I wonder . . . is it . . . _appropriate_ for a healer to bear on her person a symbol of . . . that is . . . husband or no, you cannot deny that Loki-"

"Loki was thinking of me when he acquired them," Sigyn pointed out. "Not as a wife, not even as a healer . . . but as a friend."

A distant, thoughtful expression passed over Fandal's face as he considered Sigyn's words. Thor's large hand clapping down on his shoulder drove the expression away.

"I would listen to her, my friend! My brother has proven himself better in this regard at least than all the rest of us. But now, I fear we must leave you, Sister, to begin our own preparations for the Feast tomorrow," Thor broke in. "I myself must go and speak to the captains of the army to carry out the Alfather's instructions. When might we expect Tyr to rejoin us?"

"His wound is healing speedily, and I believe Eir expects him to be released from our care tomorrow morning."

"Excellent. Then until tomorrow," here he took her hand and gently pressed a brother's kiss to her fingers, "farewell, Sister." A cheeky wink of his eye made Sif's frown of disapproval deepen . . . but it made Sigyn's heart feel lighter than it had in days.

She did not stir from her place until Loki rejoined her twenty minutes later.

* * *

The suns had just set, leaving behind the haze of mist and refracted light to veil all but the brightest of stars and nebulae from the eyes of Asgard.

Among the gazes aimed skyward were those of the younger Prince of Asgard and his Healer wife. They stood together on a wide balcony, his arms wound around her waist and shoulders with her much smaller hands curled around his. They watched the sky silently, almost lazily, as the haze faded to reveal the beauty of the night's sky. Still they remained, silent but for an occasional whispered endearment. The stars gleamed, the nebulae spun against a backdrop the color of the Healer's eyes . . .

Loki had not let go of Sigyn since that afternoon - from the moment he had emerged from his meeting with the Alfather he had either his arms around her or a hand clutching hers securely. He had rushed her to their rooms, no words spoken until safe behind closed doors and wards, where he then told her everything.

Tomorrow, after the Feast, he would leave.

At last he slowly removed his arm to take her hand tightly in his, before they made their way back inside together.

How he would miss all this.

A decade ago he had let go, believing anywhere would be better than the glares and taunts. He had found only more pain and more loneliness among the places where those he loved could never find him. Only emptiness and betrayal.

Until that brief moment when midnight eyes broke through and reminded him of everything he had left behind. The eyes that had followed him every time he listened to the rage within and let himself fall again.

Loki's own eyes fell upon the woman who had once chased after him into the emptiness and refused to let go.

She would appear unchanged to most, the Gift of the Tree to Asgard preventing the changes mortals used to describe the passage of time. But the past years showed in her bearing.

His wife was exhausted. Not just from the lack of rest. Not just from the current trials. From all the years she had clung to the hope of his existence, his salvation . . .

And she still smiled for him. Still waited for him.

"Sigyn . . . you know I'm leaving tomorrow."

"I know."

It was silent after that for many long moments.

He desperately searched her expression for more. Those two simple words _couldn't_ have been everything she thought, not when _he_ was torn apart by what he must do . . . Not after everything they had shared . . .

All he could find was weary acceptance.

"Is . . . is that all you can say?"

Midnight eyes narrowed. Her once smiling mouth turned down.

"What else _can_ I say?"

_Beg me not to go. Scream at me. Tell me I cannot go. Tell me that you don't care about Asgard, not when it requires such-_

Loki opened his mouth but couldn't bring himself to speak his thoughts. Her fingers curled tighter around his as she tilted her head to see his face more clearly. From her ears gold glinted in the faint light of the torches in the walls and Loki found himself staring at his old gift.

He hadn't thought she'd kept those.

It had been so long, years in fact, since he had spent his time between harassing Thor and his mortal allies by wandering aimlessly through one of Midgard's markets. It had been years since a flash of bright purple had brought to mind that girl who refused to cut her losses and return to her home. A closer look had shown him twisted glass pendants, in the shade she favored, with a golden serpent coiled around each.

Was it any wonder that the seller had found themselves short one pair of earrings that day?

Sigyn had been surprised when she found him waiting in her rooms after her day working alongside his enemies. She had been delighted when he thrust the wrapped trinkets into her hands (_I found these and thought you would be more likely to wear them than I_), before stepping through to one of his numerous hideaways.

She had been wearing them the next time he showed up to enjoy SHIELD's special brand of hospitality. She had frowned at him, disapproval clear in every line of her posture. Her eyes had shone with that unique cross of frustration and fondness.

But now, her bright eyes were dimmed. Stars still shone, but as if through cold mists. She was so very weary . . . he could see more resignation than acceptance in her gaze. Less hope . . .

She had been through too much. Too much pain, too much heartache, too much fear and danger. Sigyn had always been strong but now . . . it broke Loki's heart to see his wife this frail, this fragile, trying to be strong for his sake, trying to endure yet one more tribulation.

_I can't do this. I can't leave you like this. You need me here. You need me to protect you the way I never have before. You need me to comfort you the way I should have done years ago. I know you don't want me to leave . . . so tell me to stay!_

But she said nothing. She just looked at him –

White-hot, blinding rage suddenly swept over him, unbidden, unwanted . . . but frighteningly powerful.

"Do I mean so little to you?" he snapped, pulling his hand away from hers.

She started back from him, her brow now furrowed with confusion.

"Loki, what-"

"Sigyn, I am _leaving_. _Tomorrow!_ I don't know when I shall return – more than likely never! And you seem no more concerned about my absence than you would if _Thor_ were leaving Asgard!"

"You haven't left yet, Loki," she reminded him quietly.

Her apparent indifference did nothing to ease his temper.

"Well, it certainly seems to have taken little time hearing the news for you to find peace about it!"

"Do you _want_ me to weep inconsolably every time misfortune comes to us?" she demanded, her own eyes flashing dangerously.

"You have done so every other time! You seemed more upset when your son was left on Midgard than when your _husband_ will be forced to leave you here alone!"

Sigyn's mouth opened incredulously, an almost-laugh twisting her features in what Loki nearly believed to be a mocking expression.

"Are . . . are you jealous of a _four-year-old boy?_"

"No!" Loki shouted angrily. _Why_ couldn't he make her understand . . . ? "I just want to know you – I don't want – I just . . . I need you to . . ."

"What?"

He turned away from her, grabbed the back of one of the couches.

"Loki, tell me wh-"

"I need to be sure of your loyalty!" he cried out suddenly. "I know I shouldn't need proof . . . but . . . I need you. You know I have always needed you . . ."

". . . and I need you," Sigyn whispered after a moment of silence, and for the first time that night he heard the heartache in her voice. The fear, the worry that his own heart was screaming out . . .

Loki whirled to face her, eyes shining with fear and agony and uncertainty and . . . self-revulsion. He opened his mouth to speak but she darted forward before he could say a word.

"Don't," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist. "No more implying I don't need you or want you."

He enfolded her in his arms, held her tighter, closer - a drowning man clinging to his salvation, his life's breath.

"I don't deserve you," he heard himself murmur.

"Didn't I just sa-"

"_No one_ deserves you . . . but you were given to me. Despite everything I am and everything I've done - _will_ do still - you remain, you refuse to turn away . . ."

He felt her smile against his chest.

"Could I do anything else? I promised, didn't I?"

"But have there never been times when . . ." he struggled a moment, "when you wished you were not held to such a promise? Was there ever a time when . . . you . . ." His fingers twisted into strands of winter's sun. "Please, tell me, Sigyn. I must know - without the promise, would you still be here?"

He held himself very still. Every muscle in his body stiffened and his breath seemed to freeze in his chest as he desperately braced himself for something he was afraid to hear. Sigyn slid her arms up his back, attempting to soothe the tense, nervous energy he refused to let go.

"Loki . . . promise or no . . . I will still always choose you. I will still always need you and want you and love you."

It was as if everything Loki had been using to keep himself upright was suddenly removed, like a spell had turned his joints to water and his bones to sand. His head dropped forward onto Sigyn's shoulder. She managed to keep them standing only a moment before they collapsed under his weight and fell to the couch they fortunately had been next to.

He could scarcely breathe with all the thoughts warring in his mind, all the emotions wracking his soul – chief among them an overwhelming sense of tortured relief.

"Has this been your belief . . . all these years?" she finally whispered. "That I stayed only to keep a promise?"

"I couldn't know for sure," he gasped out. "I – I never _wanted_ to know, not if it meant I . . . would learn something I would rather not learn. Not if it meant that the . . . the Liar was fated for only lies."

She was silent for a long time, holding his head against her shoulder.

"If you need me to promis-"

"No."

" . . . No?"

"Whatever you say I will accept it as truth. Whatever you pledge I will accept as a promise." His arms squeezed her tightly, fingers grasping the cloth of her dress. "Whatever you ask of me I will give."

_Please tell me to stay. Say that you want me with you. Tell me to give up the Alfather's scheme and stay here with you. Please . . . please don't make me go . . . _

"I only ask this . . ." Loki raised his face from her shoulder. There were tears in her eyes now. He watched her, listening desperately, hoping – "Come back to me . . . When this is all over – come back alive."

Loki felt his heart sink a bit in his chest. It was not the request he wanted to hear. But he knew in his heart that Sigyn wished for the same thing he did: to hide away and forget, forget about war or hardship or scorn or any other punishment they would have to endure. But he also knew, just as she did, that his leaving Asgard was the only way this war could end.

He forced himself to push his fears aside and smile.

"Then it will be so, _minn elskling_."

It was hardly a breath, his voice. He found now that he couldn't tear his eyes from her. He couldn't stop his fingers from moving over her cheeks, tracing the faint trails of the few tears she had let fall. She was smiling at him, bright like the sun through rain, warm and bittersweet and so beautiful it hurt him to look. He leaned back only enough to press his lips to her forehead, and then moved down to brush a soft kiss over her eyelids. By the time he followed her cheek nearly to her ear her hands had slid to the back of his neck and tangled into his hair.

"Sigyn," he breathed, "I would give eternity were it in my power . . ." He moved away and watched the soft midnight blue of her eyes reappear, felt her fingers continue to comb through his hair. "I wish I could stay . . ."

"We still have tonight, Loki. Will you give me that, at least?"

Her warm smile encouraged his.

"How could I give anything less?"

He let her pull him down into a kiss.


	8. Chapter 7

_Alrighty, people, here's another chapter...finally! Thank you for all your patience so far...continued patience would be wonderful, as this story is growing longer and more intense with every chapter Chimaera Chameleon and I write! Please please PLEASE keep up with the reviews! You have no idea how excited we get when you all comment on our stuff. Anyways, here's chapter 7. Enjoy!_

* * *

CHAPTER 7

The Feast went about as well as could be expected.

Though there was laughter and cheer all around them, there were three hearts in that room that the laughter could not truly touch. Loki had divulged the entire scheme to Sigyn last night, how this feast would be an important step in setting up his "betrayal." Though he had not gone into specifics, he had told her enough to make her feel . . . uneasy. The difficulty would be in playing her own role convincingly enough to make the crowd believe she knew nothing of Loki's plans. It would be a small – almost insignificant part – but her heart was still pounding in her throat.

The Alfather acted his part as if nothing was wrong, as if nothing unusual or detrimental was about to take place. Odin had much more practice with – she wouldn't necessarily use the word _deception_ – but it seemed appropriate here. He wore a smile where none should lie if his plan was as disagreeable as Loki had said he claimed. But then of course he had little to worry about. He would be safe within the walls of Asgard, unlike Loki – not forced to risk life and reputation and soul for-

Sigyn stopped her thoughts there. True or not, they were unworthy of her King, her Father.

And besides, yes, his laughter was as easy and free as any of his subjects in that hall . . . but if one looked hard enough into his face they would see his eye straying to his son, seated half-way down the long table, with an almost apologetic look.

Loki, however, had not said a word since the feast began. He had hardly made eye contact with anyone else in the room, and the only thing he touched on the table was the flagon of ale. His expression was sullen . . . almost mournful. He was still bitter that the Alfather chose him to perform this task, he was anxious of that task – more afraid he would never return to Asgard, and he was already grieving for the lost months, or longer, that he would be forced away from his family. More than once Sigyn tried to engage him in conversation – perhaps take his mind off of what was to come, even for a little while – but eventually she gave it up as a lost cause. There was simply nothing she could say to ease his burden in the slightest. In the end, she contented herself with holding his hand comfortingly under the table.

Odin stood and raised his cup.

"To those who fought bravely and returned I give honor. To those whose valor has born them forth to Valhalla, we give honor to their memory."

The Asgardians all rose, lifting their cups as one. Together with their King they drank and honored their fallen warriors.

Seats were occupied again, cups refilled, and Odin continued, still standing tall before his people.

"To the first warrior to land a blow against the armies of Muspelheim, we honor Asmundr Geirson."

Sigyn saw, out of the corner of her eyes, Loki drain his cup in a manner more akin to the elder of the Princes. She held their intertwined fingers even tighter. He did not let go.

Two drinks later he was muttering under his breath. Four drinks and he was drawing glares from their neighbors.

For nearly an hour Odin named warriors and deeds worthy of the toast. As each warrior was named and praise given by the Alfather, it seemed to Sigyn that her husband drank a full glass of ale with each one. His mutterings at each name were growing louder and more unpleasant – his unyielding grip on her hand the only evidence of his apprehension.

"Lastly to Tyr, head of Asgard's army, we honor you for your courage and sacrifice. May the loss of your arm never hinder your prowess and may you find the fortitude to fight once more when Asgard has need."

"So it is only in battle that you recognize sacrifice . . ."

"Do you wish to speak your mutterings for all to hear, Loki?"

Next to her Loki stiffened. Beneath the table, Sigyn curled her fingers tighter around his. This time, however, he didn't hold desperately to her as he had the past hour.

It was time, then.

She let his hand slide away as he rose, breathed deeply, and turned his glare from the wooden surface of the table to the Ruler of the Nine Realms.

"Glorious death and war-wounds have been prized for time immemorial. Why must this be so?" Voice firm, green ice unyielding, "Why must the beasts of battle boast proudly in their exploits while the secret soldiers hide in shame?"

"To hide in the shadows is to lay claim to deceit," Odin replied calmly, "and truth cannot thrive when lies abound. Do you deny this?"

"I deal in lies, Old Man. I know where they spark and where they spread. I know the art of a false tongue like the back of my hand. Silver-tongue they call me, Lie-Smith am I named. Falsity is my beginning, forgery my childhood, a fraudulent fairy tale my life-"

"Such vitriol is unbecoming of a Prince, Loki. No son of mine shall slander what he-"

"You have been called King. I am called Inconstant. I say _you_ are as _Inconstant_ as I. Favor given, displeasure bestowed on naught but vacillation of tempers. Where was your favor when the child sought regard – " Here he looked pointedly at Asgard's Captain, "or your displeasure when the man proved a foolish boor?"

Tyr leapt to his feet as an uncomfortable whisper filled the room. Sigyn could guess their thoughts: how could Loki have the gall to insult a hero of Asgard in the face of this assembly?

"My lord Loki, please forbear to cast insults in this hall," a calming voice spoke from their right. "If you seek to defame a man such as Tyr, you may soon find the hatred of Asgard wrapped around your throat."

"I might have known you would speak next, Bragi," Loki answered. "Always have you been swift to defend any men's character save one. Well, I have words for _you_ now, since you have so foolishly opened your mouth. Do you not feel ashamed to stand in the company of the mighty of Asgard? Your only strength lies with words, and words are quick to flee when force is threatened. You are the very epitome of everything Asgard rejects! For all your vaunted self-importance, you are nothing more than an eloquent bench ornament!"

There were several angered shouts at this, and Bragi rushed to his feet.

"By Odin you will pay for your insults, Loki!" he shouted.

Loki merely smiled.

"Brave words from one who has never learned to use a sword."

"Bragi, stop this foolishness," Idunn suddenly said, laying a hand on her husband's arm. "However wrong the Prince's words may be, do not seek to banter with him." She looked over at Loki, who had now fixed her with an icy stare. "My Prince I ask you now, for my sake if for nothing else, to refrain from casting insults at my husband."

There was a long, silent pause. Sigyn felt her back stiffen involuntarily. Idunn was held in a very high position in Asgard, and all respected her words. If Loki chose to include her in his insults –

"We both know that you yourself are far from blameless, Idunn," Loki answered tersely. "In consideration of our past understandings, I will be silent – only if you will restrain your husband's wagging tongue."

Loki turned his back to the couple, facing Odin once more.

"Always have the praised ones sought out dissension, never alliance. Can our city stand to continue when such men are lifted up?"

"You go too far, Prince," Tyr spoke up boldly from his place. Though his tone was respectful, there was tempered steel in his gaze. "A warrior's actions should never be judged by those that cannot – or will not – understand war."

"You think I do not understand war, Tyr?" Loki demanded. "You know better than most how many times I have ridden by your side, at the head of Asgard's armies, when war came to trouble Asgard. I have paid my dues as a warrior to this realm – dues that have yet to be repaid."

"You refused to ride to Alfheim and earn your reward on the battlefield, and I rode in your stead," Tyr snapped. "And yet now you demand the respect and praise of one of that company? I believe the wise had words for men like you: 'The fool seeks applause for that which others achieve.' "

"And yet there is _another _old adage, which I believe will suit you well," Loki answered easily. "'Witless is he that loses himself. Foolish and _useless_ is the man when a _part_ of himself he loses.' "

"You have lost yourself to drink, oh Prince," Tyr sneered.

"Perhaps, but at least I have still kept my wits about me. Your arm, however, has yet to return."

There was sudden movement from the far left of Sigyn's vision; Sif had gotten angrily to her feet and was glaring at Loki with such fury that Muspelheim's fires seemed like ice in comparison.

"Pay the Trickster no heed, Tyr," she said loudly, venom in her voice. "Why should we stoop so low as to defend ourselves before the lowest of the low in the Nine Realms? Long has this pretender been envious of the praise the true warriors of our people have received from Odin."

" 'True warriors'? Is that what you see yourself as, Sif?" Loki asked, turning now to face her. There was a look in his eyes somewhere between disgust and amusement. It left no doubt in Sigyn's mind that Loki was beginning to truly enjoy himself.

Sif held her head proudly, a small challenging smile slipping over the anger.

"Yes." A simple reply. Everyone in that hall knew everything that Sif had done for the good of Asgard. There was no need for her to boast.

Sniggering, sarcastic laughter suddenly burst out of Loki.

"If you are the example of true prowess and bravery, Sif," he spat, "then I am ashamed to count myself as one of Asgard. How unfortunate that our people have fallen so low as to allow a _woman_ to disgrace the name of warrior. As war is the providence of men, I have always found it distasteful that you should wish to count yourself among them." He smirked hatefully. "Unnatural, is it not, Sif?"

"If we must speak of unnatural practices, Loki Odinson," Sif bit back, "then I feel I must point out the countless ways you have disgraced the name of man. Did you not once, in order to retrieve Mjolnir from Thrym of Jotunhiem, disguise yourself as a _woman?_"

There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd. Loki's smile was unconcerned.

"I have no wish to deny it. But I believe I was not alone in that endeavor, was I, Thor?"

The hall rang with renewed mirth, albeit reluctant. Sigyn caught sight of Thor hiding his face in angered shame.

Sif saw it as well.

"Thor plainly took no pleasure from that, Loki. _You_, however, seemed perfectly content. _Unnatural_, was it not?"

A flush of color tinged Loki's pale complexion, and his green eyes narrowed slightly. Sif smirked in triumph. Sigyn wished she could have said something at this point in defense of her husband. But his hand twitched, just slightly, blocking her arm almost imperceptivity. He needed no help from her now.

"Indeed? Then tell me, Sif, as unnatural as you claim I am, how is it I now have a wife and a _son_ . . . something that you have never seemed capable of achieving yourself?"

There was dead silence in the hall now. Sigyn's heart ached for Sif when she saw her, pale and cowed at last, almost fall back into her seat. The young healer had never seen her friend shed tears ever before, but now – with Loki's mocking rebuke still hanging in the air – she could see the emotion threatening to spill from her eyes.

"Loki, please sit down," she whispered, tugging gently on his sleeve. "You've said enough."

"For once listen to your wife, Loki," came a new voice. Freyja had risen to her feet, gazing at Loki with an almost arrogant look. "Why must you shame her with your inebriated rantings?"

"_Shame_, Freyja?" Loki answered, pulling out of Sigyn's reach. "Do not tempt me to expose your own past to this assembly."

"I have done nothing that would bring shame to me, my Prince," the Vanir woman declared proudly. "The only disgrace I have brought upon myself was when I stepped foot into this hall and began hearing the yelping of a wicked dog."

Loki's smile became devious, and Sigyn saw his muscles tighten like a coiled spring.

"Have a care, woman, or you will find the yelping of the dog will become the bite of a wolf."

"How appropriate you compare yourself to a wolf, my Prince!" Freyja crowed. "You have walked among mortals for time out of mind - how many have you preyed upon? How many men have you slain on your wild whims and jealousies? And how many mortal maidens have you stolen from their families?"

Even knowing this insult would come, Sigyn felt her face warm with embarrassment. She, more than any other, knew of Loki's exploits when he was younger. He had confided the truth in her . . . but the rest of Asgard would be all-to-eager to believe what her cousin stated.

Freyja's eyes now turned to the silent Vanir woman sitting by Loki's side.

"It pains me to speak this way, cousin, but the truth cannot be hidden from you any longer. Why do you still wish to remain with this foul Oath-Breaker? Do you believe that in all these years of your faithfulness to him he was the same towards you? Do you still believe he loves you and _you alone?_"

It took every ounce of inner strength and conviction to hold back the stinging pain of her cousin's kindly-meant wound.

Loki, however, burst out laughing.

"Even if your tales were true, witch," Loki sneered, "in this at least I have confidence: my wife has been named the Goddess of Fidelity. Never once has she broken her vows to me . . . however 'inconstant' I have been. Can the same be said for you, Harpy with Open Arms? I – and your husband with me – know with certainty that you have shared yourself with no less than a score of other men . . . and among those were kin of your own flesh and blood."

"That is a LIE!" Freyja screeched, barely heard over the infuriated rumblings of the crowd.

"Loki, I am begging you, please stop this!" Sigyn whispered in his ear, hurriedly trying to pull him back down into his seat. Odin had wanted Loki to make a scene – surely he never meant for things to go this far.

"Know your place, wife!" Loki snapped, turning on her. "Sit down and keep silent."

That was what he said. What she saw in his eyes was _Please don't interfere. I must do this._

"How unfortunate that my apprentice has bound herself to this ungrateful, galling, spiteful _child!_" Eir shouted to the hall as Freyja – pale and mortified – collapsed back into her seat. "It grieves me to see one of such innocence and purity under the heel of a man who cares no more for her than the thousands of innocent lives his pettiness has destroyed in years passed!"

"I would curb that sharp tongue of yours, Eir! My reputation you may slander, but leave my wife out of it!" Loki spat back.

"It seems _someone_ should pay her heed," Eir shouted, "since you seemed to care nothing for her when she first pledged herself to you!"

"Sigyn's choice was hers alone. When she bound herself to me, she did so of her own free will!"

"Did she?" Eir challenged. "She _chose _to marry the God of Mischief? A master of magic? I wonder if she had not been _forced_ to do so because of your wild fancies."

Loki suddenly paled. Sigyn stiffened as all eyes turned to her. What was Eir _doing?_ Why was she bringing her into all of this?

"What did you _really_ say to her, Trickster?" Eir demanded, her piercing voice ringing over the silent crowd. "What lies or spells or threats did you use to frighten or compel her to marry you? Or perhaps you had weakened her good sense with false promises you knew a child such as her would believe?"

"ENOUGH!"

Loki was positively shaking with rage, his hand white-knuckled as he clutched Sigyn's shoulder. There was real fire in his eyes now, and Sigyn began to feel the uncomfortable certainty that what had begun as playacting was now turning into genuine rebukes.

But more than that, Sigyn felt that Eir was speaking as one who has wished to say these things for a long time now. "Child"? Was that what Eir truly thought of her? Did she honestly believe that Sigyn had been lied to, that Loki – her lifelong friend – had forced her to marry him? Was Eir trying to shame and embarrass her in her desire to wound Loki's reputation? Did she care nothing for the disgusted, pitying stares she was receiving from those around her?

She wanted to say something – anything – to defend herself against those accusations. But she could manage nothing except to hide her face in shame.

"If we speak of children," Loki whispered, "then perhaps we should speak of you, you witless shrew! Do you truly care for Sigyn as you claim? Or are you simply envious because she possesses something that you have wanted your whole life? Perhaps you merely wished to keep your apprentice bound to the solitude you have been cursed with? I know you, you conniving, bitter old _hag!_ Your only thought in this matter is that if YOU cannot be happy than neither should Sigyn. Who is controlling whom, I wonder?"

"Loki, please don't," Sigyn begged as an angry rustle broke from the crowed. This was going farther than any of them had planned.

Loki shook her off again, his eyes never leaving the focus of his anger.

"Do not DARE to accuse me of sinking to your level, Loki Odinson!" Eir shrieked. "Everything I have done for Sigyn I have done out of concern for her reputation!"

"And yet you slander that reputation by calling her 'child' in this assembly!"

"I only want what is best for my apprentice, and you know that well, Trickster!"

"Then cease your endeavors to rule her life and allow her the freedom to make her own decisions! Or must you keep her your prisoner forever?"

"Alfather, please, put an end to this!" Sigyn shouted desperately, her voice nearly drowned in the chorus of enraged shouts.

She hadn't needed to say anything; Odin was already on his feet, fury and alarm in his gaze. He saw as well as she that this was no longer a game.

"_Loki!_" he bellowed angrily. "Still that loose tongue of yours! No one – be they lowly peasant or a Prince of Asgard – will speak as you have and remain unpunished!"

"_Asgard!_" Loki all but spat the name as though it were poison. "A land of braggarts and fools! Where to kill is to be exalted, and to die is to be desired above all else! The land of men who have lived too long in the squalor and decay of immorality and self-righteousness! Who take and give nothing but slavery in return! Why should I wish to remain a part of this realm – the realm where to be wise is to be deemed _ergi!?_"

The entire hall was suddenly on its feet, infuriated shouts and curses shaking the stone columns around them. Sigyn clutched Loki's arm frantically, trying both to gain his attention and to shield him from the threats of those immediately around them.

"Loki, what are you doing?! Have you gone _mad?!_"

It was as if she didn't exist. Loki never once looked at her or made a sign that he even heard her. His teeth were bared, his eyes unusually bright, and his face was flushed – convincing Sigyn that he was either at last overcome by ale or hatred. Her stomach turned at the thought that it was more than likely both.

"You will be SILENT!" Odin roared, now on his feet and towering above the assembly.

"For too long have I stood by silent!" Loki bellowed, his angry voice now barely heard over the fury of the crowd. "For too long has this realm remained ignorant of her depravity! Asgard is gold for a reason - gold shows no taint, no tarnish, no decay. She gilds herself because she is ROTTING beneath! Asgard will fall not by enemies from within nor war from without! Oh no . . . she will fall because of secrets and lies and sickness! She will fall because she has become too large and powerful to recognize how DESPICABLE she has become . . ."

"_Enough with his lies! Silence him! Silence him!_" were the screams issuing from the crowd – a crowd that was quickly becoming a mob. And still Loki paid them no heed.

"Yes – despicable! All of you traitors to the cause you claim to hold to! All of you... _ERGI!_"

It was too much.

The crowd rushed at Loki, determined to silence his serpent's tongue once and for all. Sigyn was aware of nothing but angry screams and violent noise; in the confusion she lost hold of Loki's arm. In that terrifying moment Sigyn thought the crowd would gain their wish, and if Loki did not run or hide or MOVE that he would be slain before he could set foot outside the hall –

Someone pushed passed her with such force that she was nearly flung to the ground. Her heart pounding in her throat, she tried to grab hold of them, hold them back, keep them from –

"Enough, Loki!" she heard Thor bellow as he seized Loki by the throat. "Close your lying mouth or Mjolnir will close it for you!" As the God of Thunder dragged the Trickster away from the enraged mob, Sigyn could just hear Thor shout in Loki's ear, low enough that none but her understood, "You have gone too far, brother. Still your tongue before it is ripped out of your mouth."

At the threshold of the hall Sigyn could see, above the heads of the crowd, Thor reeling suddenly, lurching away from Loki and clutching his own throat. Before anyone else could move, the floor suddenly trembled as if the ground was about to split open. The sudden shock instantly stilled the crowd, and every eye turned toward the dais.

Odin had slammed Gungnir to the ground with such force that the stones at his feet were cracked and splintered.

"Loki Silver-Tongue," he rumbled, "for your arrogant slanders and treasonous lies, you are henceforth banished from Asgard . . . and every dominion within its boundaries!"

"NO!" Sigyn screamed, her anguished protests swallowed up by the jeering of those around her. This was not happening . . . _could_ not be happening . . . !

Loki's clear, mocking voice suddenly rang out above the voices of all else:

"Take pleasure in these last peaceful days behind blood-won gilded walls! Ready yourself for the end, people of Asgard! For I will return again . . . to laugh as your illusions _BURN!_"

Before anyone could move, the Sorcerer-Prince, outcast of Asgard, vanished before their eyes.

* * *

He saw a figure waiting for him at the place where space bled.

They wore a deep hood that hid their face. A long cloak trailed the ground and blurred their shape. They didn't speak, hardly moved as he approached.

So, of course he knew right away who it was.

"What are you _doing_ here!?" he whispered tersely, not daring to say their name. "If someone saw-"

"Don't worry, they didn't. I left the Feast not long after you did – everyone was still in an uproar over your insults."

"You played your part well," he said with a small grin. The figure shrugged their shoulders.

"In the end it was not difficult." There was a long, uncomfortable pause. "You enjoyed that, didn't you? Casting insults and abuses is like a game to you, is it not?"

Loki couldn't keep back the humorless smirk from his lips.

"Believe me when I say that I have wanted to speak that way for centuries now."

"Even everything you said to Eir?"

"She had no right to speak as she did!" Loki snapped, feeling a flicker of the same fire that had caused him to rail at the older goddess. "For her to accuse me of –"

"I know," the quiet voice interrupted, no longer chiding but understanding. "I know . . ."

For a long moment neither spoke – the figure's empty face staring at him, he staring back.

"I refuse to let you come with me." He whispered as he drew nearer. "You are neede-"

"That isn't why I came here. I knew you wouldn't have much time so I brought these for you . . ."

Outstretched in slender hands were four Golden Apples in a closely woven net.

"I use the net to keep fresh the herbs and plants Eir sometimes sends me to find. It will keep the apples fresh as well. I couldn't bear thinking of you out there without… especially after last time."

He stared at the dark space beneath the hood. The figure shifted, holding the bundle out further.

Wordlessly he took the tiny bag from their outstretched hands. A moment later and a quick twist of his wrist it was folded away in his pocket between dimensions. Again he returned to staring into the dark space beneath the hood.

"Loki, you need to leave." Their rushed whisper drove him from his stupor and he took a step closer. "They will be he-"

He grasped the sides of their hooded head and firmly pressed his mouth to where he knew theirs would be, never letting the shadow reveal its secret but keeping their face veiled from all.

"You need t-" Again.

"Lo-" And again.

The third time he pulled away they didn't try to speak but instead pulled him back down into another hard, desperate clash of salty lips. Their tears or his own he didn't care to know. He pulled away one last time, slid the hood back just far enough to see their eyes.

Midnight Sky.

"Thank you Sigyn," he breathed so quietly she hardly heard.

Both knew it was not the apples he thanked her for.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close, his own arms wrapping tight behind her back, forehead dropping to her shoulder.

For a moment – a breath, a heartbeat, the blink of an eye – there was only them, only quiet, only peace . . .

He exhaled, his grip loosening, eyes opening. Sigyn's arms slid down.

"Be safe."

He had time to nod to her before he slid into the hole between worlds.

His own world – his home, his heart – behind.

A different world lay ahead.


	9. Chapter 8

_(Author's Note: I'm sorry, guys! Sorry it's taken so long to post this update, but my editor and partner-in-crime Chimaera Chameleon was VERY busy with school projects and therefore didn't have time to edit this chapter for me. I apologize for the delay, but trust me, neither of us has been idle! We have LOTS more already written - I am currently finishing up Chapter 18, and we have the rest of this story more or less planned out. Again, I apologize for the long delay! Please keep the reviews coming; we LOVE reading what you have to say! :D )_

CHAPTER 8

Morning dawned on Asgard bright and clear beneath the rising suns: a golden light shone in the rushing waters, on the wide streets and towering buildings; the wings of the palace gleamed as if to deny to all who marveled at it the deeds and words of the previous evening.

Her crown prince made his way along a hallway through the palace, Mjolnir held, as always, in a firm grip and his eyes staring only at the golden floor directly before his boots.

Thor knew only bewilderment this bright morning.

From the moment Loki had leveled his first insult Thor had only been able to sit and watch in rising horror as his brother's words inflamed and brought low, accused and invited violence to all who dared rise to his taunts. He hardly even heard Loki's words for their father, so intent was he on watching the reactions of the audience to ensure his safety. It was not as a prince but as a brother that Thor had dragged Loki away.

He still could not understand how Loki could have said such things . . .

Thor stopped suddenly and found that he had taken the long way to the throne room: the roundabout path that led past Loki and Sigyn's quarters. He must have walked the same way countless times before but only now realized that every time he had done so he had stopped to wish them a good morning and collect his brother for a day, a morning, an hour if that was all Loki could stand. But now . . .

He would not have a brother to spend the day with, to train with, to argue with, to stand by his side when he needed it and to always be there in return . . .

His brother . . .

Was gone.

Why? _Why_ had Loki suddenly turned on his home? What purpose could it serve besides forcing a separation between himself and the family he cared for so much? Thor refused to believe all of Loki's past actions – words and deeds that spoke of a sincerity beyond anything the Thunderer had ever seen before – were only empty lies. Loki was not the same selfish, broken, lost man that he had been not ten years ago.

But then, the only other alternative was that the madness of the Void had returned to Loki's mind.

No. Impossible. Thor would not believe that was possible.

Regardless of the reasons – or lack thereof – Loki was now on his own: banished, lost, abandoned somewhere within the Nine Realms . . . and at the mercy of every enemy he had ever made since his fall began.

And Thor could do nothing to help him . . .

Nothing . . . except . . .

Turning on his heels, Thor quickly changed direction and quickened his pace.

Perhaps there _was_ something he could do to help his brother . . . and the realm of Midgard that he had come to care for.

But he must act swiftly . . .

* * *

Thor paced outside the entrance-way to the Alfather's throne room.

The golden doors to his right spoke to him of grandeur, of prominence, of a long history of wise and powerful kings-

_Why did he leave like that? What was he thinking?!_

To his left this time, the way to where his father sat and stared down in judgment-

_I was supposed to look after him. To keep him out of trouble. Is that not what brothers are _meant_ for? _

Again to his right, the doors mocked him.

_Truly, if I cannot keep my brother – just _one man! –_from rebellion . . . if I cannot hold his allegiance . . . how can I expect to lead Asgard and her forces? To inspire bravery and faith and loyalty when I fail so miserably as a brother . . .?_

He stopped.

He could not afford to waste time on doubts and sorrow and self-condemnation. Not when he had an urgent request for the Alfather.

Thor let out a loud, rumbling sigh and turned to the doors. With Mjolnir grasped tightly in his hand – far tighter than a man with no such burdens as he carried would hold – he pushed through to speak with his father.

The full court had been assembled this morning; furious shouts and accusations filled the air as Thor resolutely made his way past the crowd. He only caught snatches of what was being said: how the words of the Lie-Smith stung to the very heart of Asgard itself, how the younger Odinson had been a thorn in the side of the Nine Realms long enough, that the Alfather should have delivered a heavier punishment than simply banishment . . . that the armies of Asgard should be called out to hunt the Trickster down –

It took every ounce of self-control for Thor to continue to walk through the crowd and not bash their skulls in at such heinous talk.

The shouts and protests died away slowly as all assembled realized the Crown Prince was among them. Those that were crowded at the foot of the dais steps took several long steps back, anger replaced by a respectful deference. Thor did not pay them even the merest glance; none in that room deserved his attention . . . except for the Alfather . . . _his_ father . . .

It should have been easy for Thor to approach the Throne, to bow, to lay a request before his father as he had done an innumerable number of times before.

_And, indeed, it was easy for him to do the first, and the second, and even the third . . . _

"Father. I ask leave to visit Midgard and warn my friends of the troubles stirring in the Realms. I would not be gone long and will return before the Bifrost is closed."

The Alfather was silent for but a brief moment.

"Your request is granted. I see no reason for a Realm to be ignorant of this present strife. Go, my son, but return swiftly."

_. . . The trouble came from a heart warring with itself._

Thor hesitated.

"Father . . . I must . . ." He swallowed. "I must ask one more thing of you."

"Then ask, my son."

"Why did Loki leave?" He ignored the whispers. They had no right to speak of things they knew not. "Was – was it something I –" A deep breath to bolster his courage. "Am I to blame, Father?"

The Alfather took longer this time in replying.

"The fault, if it lies with anyone," he said slowly, "lies with me. It lies with circumstances beyond anyone's control. With Fate. But not you, Thor."

There were a dozen questions Thor wished to ask. A score or more things he wished to beg of his father.

But time was short now, if he wished to warn Midgard.

He would have time enough when he returned, time enough to reveal his deepest misgivings far away from crowds and curious ears.

With a final bow, Thor turned and walked swiftly to where Heimdall kept watch over the Realms from a chamber of shining gold.

* * *

"Sir?"

"Hold up Jarvis."

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I believe this may be urgent."

The resident genius let the tiny repulsor drop gently to the bench.

"I'm not gonna like this, am I?"

"Thor has arrived at the Tower."

A moment later Tony Stark's head met the bench beside his newest project. Before Jarvis could inquire as to his well-being he was sliding off the stool - cursing crazy alien gods and their terrible timing - and making his way to the elevator.

He found himself thinking that maybe he should have gone with Pepper today.

* * *

Had it only been four days before that he had stood in this very room, with no thought of war on his home and no belief that his brother would vanish from the face of the universe?

Four days. It felt rather like a lifetime.

Only three of his friends were gathered together when he walked into the room: Stark, Banner, and Rogers. Banner was his usual quietly-pleasant self, Rogers' smile was wide and genuine, and Stark's half-sarcastic voice cut through the room just as it always did.

"Hey, Hammer-Time has returned! The Brotherhood of Brawn is reunited at last; I feel so privileged to be here to see it."

Rogers clapped Thor on the shoulder warmly.

"The way you snuck out of here a few days ago we thought you'd be away for a long time," he said quietly.

Thor tried to return his friend's smile, but he was never good at faking joy. Not like his broth-

Rogers suddenly hesitated, seeing the worried expression in Thor's eyes. Even Stark seemed to notice that something was wrong, and his bantering faded into silence.

"Thor? What's going on?" Rogers inquired, his brow furrowed with confusion.

"My friends," the Thunderer began heavily, "this will not, I fear, be the happy reunion you have wished for. I cannot remain long. I am taking a chance at even coming here."

"What's going on in Fantasy-Land?" Stark asked, the rare note of genuine concern coloring his question. "Must be something serious, or you wouldn't be standing there looking like you're going to a funeral."

Thor took a deep breath, looking at each of them in turn.

"Alas, the troubles of my home have only just begun. I have little time to spare so I must speak swiftly."

"You can do that? Uh, speak swiftly, I mean. I've always thought that long-windedness was a virtue where you come from."

Thor felt he should have known that Stark's sincerity would not last long.

"I ask that you not interrupt me, friend Stark, as is your wont. I have much that needs saying and little time to say it."

Stark held up his hands, his smirk letting everyone know that he'd still be _thinking_ his comments in lieu of speaking them.

"I left you some days previous to attend to matters in Asgard. I knew little then, only what my brother spoke to me of. I return now to give you what I have learned since and to warn you . . ."

The currently present members of his team watched and waited for Thor to continue.

"Asgard is at war."

A solemn expression passed over Banner's face. Rogers sat down in a waiting chair, memories of a previous war returning to his thoughts. Stark stared with only an eyebrow raised expectantly.

"An ancient evil, the Fire Demon Surtur, has returned from where the Alfather banished his soul long before my birth. He seeks the destruction of the Eternal Realm, and should he acquire the Flame that lies hidden within Asgard's vaults . . . it is fated that Asgard will fall."

"Hold up – yeah, I know you said no interrupting but I gotta know this: how can Asgard just . . . _fall?_ I thought you guys were all super-advanced and magitechnical?"

"It is true that we far exceed other realms in our strength. But it has been fated from the beginning of time that Surtur and his sword Twilight foretell of Asgard's doom."

"Gotcha. Now that that's cleared u-"

"Are the Avengers needed?" Rogers spoke up.

"No. I come only to warn you. The Alfather does not believe war shall visit your realm. But on the chance that it does it is my wish that the Avengers shall be ready. Though the Bifrost be closed in mere hours, if Surtur threatens Midgard I _will_ return to uphold my promise of protection."

"But . . . if the Bifrost is closing . . . how do you expect to get back?" Banner asked gravely.

Thor felt his own expression harden.

"I have sworn to aid you in the protection of this realm, and I WILL uphold that oath – if the Alfather will not open the Bifrost to me . . . then I will seek other paths to bring me here."

There was a pause, and Thor saw his compatriots gazing at him with what he could only believe – _hope_ – was respect. But Banner seemed to be watching him much closer than the others, one eyebrow slightly raised, as if he sensed somehow that there was something else the Prince of Asgard had to say.

Thor shifted his weight heavily. He knew he must tell them the rest . . .

"My friends . . . I am afraid I must also be the bearer of grievous tidings . . ."

"You mean there's something worse than this Surtur guy?" Rogers asked darkly, his eyes still focused on his knees.

"Aye. For it is of a deeply personal matter. My brother . . . my brother has abandoned Asgard and his family."

It was silent for a long moment before Banner spoke.

"What exactly do you mean by 'abandon'?"

"He has declared his intentions to set himself against Asgard. I know not why he would choose now to do such a thing . . . I do not wish to believe Loki has returned to his former madness . . ."

"I don't see that happening." Rogers had looked up, looking Thor straight in the eye. "Loki may be a trouble-maker, but he's not the same man we fought just a few years ago. He has a wife and son now – I've seen how protective he is of them. As spiteful as he is, I can't see Loki turning his back on his family."

"Yeah? I can," Stark interrupted with a sour expression. "How sure are you that he was back from his loony bin bash anyway? Hey, hey!" Stark raised his hands in defense from multiple glares. "Just statin' my opinion here. We got a former crazy here who just happens to start acting like he used to. Makes sense."

"No, Stark," Thor replied firmly. "Even if I did not trust my own thoughts on his reform I would have faith in Sigyn's judgment. Loki _did _come back from the darkness of his mind. But . . . it matters not," Thor sighed heavily. "By forsaking Asgard he has forsaken Sigyn and their son. Loki has since disappeared; not even my father knows where he has gone – and I have not the heart to ask my sister about it."

Stark sighed as well in response. The others looked very grim at the news.

"So . . ." Rogers said quietly after several long moments of a very uncomfortable silence. "Do you think he'd head here again? Try and finish what he started?"

"I do not know, my friend. But I would ask a favor, should he do so."

"Of course."

"Should Loki find himself here on Midgard . . . I ask only that he not be mistreated."

"Uhh . . . really Thor? You expect us to not only just totally ignore everything that creep has done before but . . . what roll out the red carpet and sing 'Hail the glorious jerk-face of mighty jerkishness'?"

Thor saw both Banner and Rogers cover their faces and groan.

"You misunderstand. Loki is banished from Asgard. He has many enemies among the Realms, most of whom I am certain have only stayed their hands due to his status as prince of Asgard. He may come here to . . . to hide. Nothing more. I ask that he be allowed to do so if that is his only design."

It was several moments before Rogers spoke for all of his companions.

"If Loki comes here and doesn't start any trouble on his own . . . we'll leave him alone. You have my word, Thor."

The Captain's words were a great relief to Thor's heart. At least now, his brother would have a safe haven to flee to.

A sudden commotion from the hall behind made Thor turn away from his friends. It was a happy noise, one that Thor hoped he would hear back on Asgard someday soon . . .

The door opened and in rushed the young Stark boy and Thor's nephew, chattering on and on to each other as if they had been bosom-friends since they were born. Behind them came the Lady Stark, looking happily-haggard, as only a mother could possibly be. It appeared as if the three of them had just come back from an outing to Central Park, as Thor could guess from the boy's excited shouting.

It took Vali only seconds to catch sight of him standing on the far side of the room. With a delighted smile, he rushed towards him, for the moment forgetting about his friend and their adventures that afternoon.

"Uncle Thor! You're back!" he squealed, throwing himself into Thor's arms. He couldn't help but laugh along with his nephew.

"Yes, Vali, I have returned, but only for a short time, I fear."

"Have you come to take me home?"

That bright question robbed the Thunderer of what little joy he felt in that moment.

"No . . . I am afraid not, Vali," he answered heavily.

"Then why are you here?" the boy asked.

"I had news to share with my fellow Avengers, but now . . . now I must return to Asgard as soon as possible."

"Why?"

A simple question . . . but not one that held a simple answer.

How was Thor to explain to his nephew – at only four years of age – all of what was to come in these next few months? How could he possibly explain the horrors that would befall the boy's home, the dangers that would soon surround the Realm Eternal? He had no wish to frighten the boy . . . but he had no desire to lie to him, either.

He decided on a vague, simple answer.

"I must return to Asgard because . . . because something very bad is about to happen there. Your grandfather needs me there to protect our people."

The boy paused, his brow furrowed in thought, looking for a moment exactly like his father when he was struggling to understand something. But the clear green eyes that locked with his own a second later were anything but puzzled.

"The war is starting, isn't it?"

Thor felt stunned. He had not mentioned anything about a war to his nephew, and he was certain that neither Sigyn nor Loki had told Vali the truth about what was happening.

"Vali, how . . . how could you know-?"

The boy shrugged.

"Well, mother and father brought me here to keep me safe, yes? And they would only want me to be safe if something bad is going to happen at home. Bad things have happened while I was at home before. So, if they wanted me to be here, then that would mean there's something _very_ bad coming, worse than anything in a long time. Like a war."

Thor didn't know how to respond, except to nod his head slowly.

Vali paused again, his eyes now looking very frightened.

"Is mother alright?" he asked anxiously.

Thor felt a genuine smile finally cross his face, and he patted the boy's head affectionately.

"Yes, Vali. Your mother is perfectly well. She is waiting for me at home at this very moment."

"Is father waiting for you, too?"

Thor's hand slipped, and he felt his heart catch in his throat. How could he possibly explain to the Son of the Trickster that his father had turned traitor and abandoned his own family?

His uncle's silence seemed to only agitate Vali's fears.

"Is father alright, Uncle Thor? He is, isn't he?" When he received no reply, a pair of tiny hands grasped Thor's shoulders desperately. "He promised me he would come back to get me when the war is over. He promised that everything would be just like it was before, and that mother and I will be safe and happy again. But he can't come get me if he gets hurt! Don't let him get hurt, Uncle! Please . . . keep him safe!"

Thor had never encountered a weapon so deadly as his nephew's tears were in that moment.

An almost overwhelming wave of grief swept over the God of Thunder, and he was hard-pressed to keep back the storm from his eyes. But his heart cried out the same prayer as Vali's did; he, too, wished for nothing more than for things to return to the way they had been – long ago, when he had a brother he loved more dearly than his own life. Before even a shred of jealousy or bitterness had crept into his little brother's mind. A time before Thor's own selfish ambition and lust for war abandoned his dearest friend in the shadows of the Crown Prince's glory.

Unbidden, images flashed before Thor's eyes, all of them painful and damning to his soul: Loki, clinging to the edge of the Bifrost, his eyes wide and terrified and screaming for salvation. Watching his little brother fall into the depths of the universe, lost to sight of even Heimdall's eye, and hearing Thor's own desperate cry echo in the engulfing Void. Loki returning a year later, like a phantom from the grave – but so changed and different from the playful companion he had been. Hearing the accusing words spewing from the Trickster's shattered soul, every accusation Thor had ever leveled at himself now flying at him from a man he felt he hardly knew.

And more images came.

Loki being struck down by Surtur's rage at the hands of his dearest friend – while Thor looked on in helpless horror.

Watching his brother nearly succumb to grief at the death of his unborn child –

Seeing his strong, independent brother clinging so desperately to the body of Sigyn, willing her to live, while Thor could do nothing but stand by his side –

Every time Thor had failed to keep Loki safe, to return things to the way they had always been . . .

And even here, he had failed once more.

When his eyes cleared, Thor found Vali looking at him intently, tears tracing their way down his cheeks. He struggled to push the demons of his past away and smile at his nephew.

"I promise you, Vali," he whispered, "I will do everything within my power to keep your father safe. He _will_ return for you . . . you shall see."

Vali's smile was brittle, but it was far more cheering than his tears.

Thor wrapped him in his arms, engulfing the small child and providing protection for him for a brief moment. But even as he did so he could sense, somewhere in the back of his mind, Heimdall's impatience; the time was quickly drawing near when the Bifrost would close, and Asgard needed its Crown Prince.

He released the child, and looked up at his friends.

"I have stayed too long. In moments the Bridge will close . . . and I do not know when I shall be able to return."

"Let us know if there's anything we can do to help," Banner murmured quietly.

"Thank you, my friends, but by sheltering Vali you will have done more than enough." He paused, wording his next request carefully in front of his nephew. "Remember what I have said . . . and farewell."

He released the boy and slowly rose to his feet, trying to delay the inevitable as long as possible. Without a glance behind him he strode to the open window and the balcony that lay beyond. He resisted the urge to turn around, to look one more time on the faces of his companions, his family . . . for if he looked back he knew it would be more than his heart could stand. Instead, he turned his gaze to the sky.

An instant later he felt the insistent pull of magic, saw a myriad of colors swirl around him as the Bifrost was opened – and suddenly he found himself standing in a golden room with silver lights dancing across the high-arched ceiling.

"Have you completed what you set out to do, my son?" a soft voice came from behind.

Thor slowly turned, and saw the Alfather standing beside the Guardian of the Realm Eternal.

He nodded heavily.

"Yes, Father."

Without a moment's hesitation, Odin turned to Heimdall.

"Close it."

Heimdall silently withdrew his sword from its resting place in the center of the room. The lights dimmed slightly, still dancing across the golden sky above. But when Heimdall placed his hand in the center of the pedestal and moved something Thor could not see, even those twinkling orbs died away, into a grim, dull blankness. Within seconds the only sound to be heard in the Observatory was the distant crash of the waves on the rocks below.

The Alfather's sigh sounded loud in that empty silence.

"So, it has come to this. The Siege of Asgard has begun."


	10. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: WE'RE FINALLY BACK! I am soooooooo sorry it took over a month to update this story! We haven't forgotten about it - far from it. This entire chapter was written by my partner in crime, Chimaera Chameleon, and it came as kind of a whimsical idea. You can call this an interlude if you want, but we're going to call it Chapter 9. Lol! Anyways, it took a LONG time for my partner to get this all into writing, so I am sincerely sorry for the delay! (Shameless promotion: if you like the style and pacing of this particular chapter, then go check out their other stories on their profile page. They're awesome!) Anyways, PLEASE REVIEW! We can't wait to read what you guys think!_

CHAPTER 9

One of the first lessons given to Asgardian children was that meant to teach them the nature of the world in which they lived – the most basic workings of the great Tree, Yggdrasil. It sprang forth from the roots of the universe, growing tall and branching out in the spaces between Realms, connecting them all. At its heights there roosted the great bird, Vidofnir, whose gaze saw all the paths, both past and future. Nested at the bottom was the fearsome dragon, Nidhogg, who hungered constantly for the sweet taste of old paths. They rarely, taught all the tutors, saw eye to eye on matters. It was fortunate, then, that the carrier of messages between the two beings, between all the Realms, preferred to see all things in a somewhat lighter manner.

The message carrier liked to spend his time watching the various denizens of the Realms. In between ferrying messages and taunts and bitter words between his fellow branch-dwellers . . . and bringing news and other pertinent bits of gossip to those who needed to know . . . and generally keeping the fragile balance of the Tree in place . . .

The messenger liked to watch young ones most of all.

Of everyone they spoke to him of what life was supposed to be about. Carefree abandon despite the struggles and troubles. Laughter and delight in simple things . . .

But he saw very few children this day in Asgard.

Soldiers he saw plenty of, marching about: Seasoned warriors who lived in their mail and plates, young recruits awkward in the ill-fitting armor of a venerated ancestor, and - even more surprising – men who were _not_ soldiers by choice. The Alfather had called forth extra bodies as fodder for his battles.

Perhaps he would find something interesting here after all.

In all his recollections of Asgard – from its very beginnings through its turbulent periods to the present troubles – he could only remember once when such a thing had happened . . .

And he dearly hoped Odin was not treading the same path as his father and father-brother. Those had been unsettling times for all the Realms.

Yggdrasil's messenger crawled a short distance along a twig of the Tree and found himself peeking into Asgard's cavern of a throne room. The object of his previous musings sat stiffly in the golden chair adorning the top of the steps. He looked very uncomfortable to the messenger.

Another step along the twig and he was sitting on the top of the throne.

"Is the Alfather in danger of becoming his father after all?" he chirped next to the king's ear, disappointed when the Asgardian moved not at all.

"And does the Realms' busybody have nothing to do but spy upon Asgard, Ratatosk?"

"The Tree rings with the whispers of wagging tongues this day, Alfather. But none so intriguing as the whispers I heard of your Realm. Whatever would drive Yggdrasil's mightiest Realm to such desperation?"

At last the Alfather moved, turned his head to look the small form Ratotosk most preferred in the eye.

"You must have heard the accounts. The assault on Alfheim, Surtur's return, my son's betrayal."

"That last one must be new indeed. And most unusual. The Hammer-Wielder has always seemed most stalwart to m-"

"Do not pretend to misunderstand."

Ratatosk would have smiled if he could in this form.

"_Was_ it betrayal? You should be more careful where you discuss such secrets."

"Say a word of the arrangement and you will be served at the next Feast."

He chirruped at the king's expression, amused beyond measure, and scampered to the other side of the throne.

"I had no intentions of spreading your whisperings and dealings to the Realms." Not when such instability would result! Perish the thought! "I only wished to hear from the source why innocents are being trained to fight and die."

"No child will be allowed to fight. Only those who have partaken of the apples."

"Many are children yet." Ratatosk grumbled, "Many whom you call ready for battle have not the heart for such courage, nor the stomach for violence. Not all children are innocent, as we both well know, and not all innocents are children."

"I will not allow my decisions to be questioned, least of all by you."

"No, no, of course not, exalted ruler. I would never dream of such a thing." The little bark could have been either an expression of agreement or a laugh. Ratatosk would let the man try and guess which one.

"Are there any messages you wish for me to deliver, Alfather? It is, after all, the least I can do for… the valuable entertainment you provide me with."

"If you wish to spare the innocents, as you call them, you may bring to Asgard's allies this command: Be ready for war. When Asgard calls, come swiftly."

"Commanded like the leader you claim to be. I suppose I have no qualms with saving young ones. But be warned, dear King, nothing lasts forever but the stories you leave behind." With a flick of his bushy tail against the Alfather's too-large scepter-spear, Ratatosk crawled back over the twig, the limb, the branch, until he clung to Yggdrasil's trunk.

He had messages to deliver!

* * *

_There was a very particular, delicate order to the Realms._

_The energy of the universe liked the number three. And its multiples. And anything that involved the number or its multiples._

_It was a solid, complete, stable way to do things._

_Nine Realms._

_Three given three chances to grow._

_So much better than Ten._

* * *

The Realm of Elves had hardly changed from the last time Ratatosk had visited.

If one could ignore the charred streaks adorning the trunks of their beloved city. Even those, though, were healing if the devastation Ratatosk had heard of was true. There were no gaping holes in the interconnecting web of trees as he had been told.

Ratatosk was glad for that, at least. Trees, and especially such a gloriously tangled grove as Alfheim grew, were a favorite thing of his. Such a beautiful representation of the Tree itself within the flatness of the Realms.

Donning his favorite form, Ratatosk deigned to crawl over the city's branches and twigs instead of Yggdrasil's for the time being.

He scampered through the passages and holes between passages, delighted at the similarities between where he currently played and where he resided. Too soon he emerged into a larger room.

He liked to look for similarities in the respective rooms leaders set aside for themselves.

All of them seemed to prefer pointless space - as if the size of their throne, their ceilings, their places of rule could somehow make the smallness of their place in fate more bearable. It was very ridiculous.

Didn't they know that it was always the smallest of threads that clogged the Norns' spindles and tangled their looms?

Ah, but the pattern had changed in this room from the last time he had been here! The branches twisted slightly differently . . .

Ratatosk scurried over the high ceiling to where the center of the new pattern began. The tiny branches wove together tighter than before, the twigs almost like . . . thorns now as they blocked the gaps. Carefully, the messenger explored a tiny space with a furry paw . . .

"Not quite the same as you remember it, my friend?"

Startled (and most certainly not with a quiet noise – no guardian of the Tree _squeaked)_, he pulled away from where his little claws were just managing to scrape the back of the shallow, dark pocket. Lifting his head, Ratatosk fixed a wide-eyed stare on the upside-down King of the Elves.

The years had been kind to the Elven king, even if circumstances and fate seemed to continually assault him. He had the same unlined face that Ratatosk remembered millennia before - back when the Realms were in turmoil and the current self-named leader of the Realms was not yet powerful and felt the need to prove it . . . Though, his eyes had changed slightly, Ratatosk knew. Still the same gentle shade of darkened gold but with a vibrancy that had only increased over the years.

Living amongst the magical energies of Alfheim would have the same effect on anyone.

"If my eyes and claws are not deceived you have added more layers of defense since my last visit."

"You, more than any, must know that with every year that passes in the Realms, dangers continue to grow."

Ratatosk merely hummed once in reply and dropped down from the ceiling to land lightly on the man's shoulder.

"This is very true, Elven King." He curled up around his neck, closing his eyes. "For even now, events transpire that may yet bring turmoil to the Tree and instability to the Realms."

Freyr did not answer immediately and the Tree's messenger felt his shoulders tense. He was sure he knew what the king thought of.

That war so long ago . . . The time where fear and the desire for power overcame the previous age's short time of exploration and prosperity and cooperation . . . It was not the Realms' most shining moment. The current king of Alfheim was one of the more fortunate ones to emerge from that time.

Freyr was silent for so long that Ratatosk nearly felt himself drowsing, content for the moment amidst the gentle energies Alfheim's great city focused and cultivated. A quiet reply broke him from a sleepy daydream of clambering along the Tree with no messages, no cares . . .

"You carry a message then my friend. Does the Alfather seek his allies' strength at last?"

"Oh, most certainly. He is a wiser king than some – he knows where he is weak instead of boasting in strength. Mostly, anyway. He has asked me to bring to his allies this message: Be ready for war. When he calls, come swiftly."

"I . . . I know well that to be under the protection of Asgard is to offer service of arms in return. However . . ." the king picked a tree nut from where it grew upon his living throne, held it up to the idle Ratatosk. Small claws reached out to take it. "I do not believe Alfheim has regained strength enough to bring aid should Surtur lay siege."

"Mmm, I thought as much." He turned the nut over in his paws before finally choosing a side and set to work in picking at the outer shell.

"The Alfather may not be over-pleased by such news . . ."

"He has plenty more to worry about than the armies of the Elves. Care to hear the most recent news?"

The nut had, by now, become less a nut and more a series of carvings.

"I hear in your tone that I will know whether I wish it or not."

Ratatosk wondered if maybe he shouldn't have chosen a form more conducive to wide smiles . . .

"The Alfather's son, Loki the Trickster, has abandoned Asgard. He fled during the feast, leaving abuses and insulted Aesir in his wake."

"I know not," Freyr said slowly after a thoughtful silence, "whether to be concerned or amused by this news . . ."

"If you wish my advice," the creature on his shoulder chirped, "find it within yourself to be both."

Ratatosk turned the nut over and over, searching for any spot yet clear of his attentions.

"Then I shall do so. But, one more bit of news I beg. If I may ask . . . have you chanced to see how my sister fares?"

Ratatosk giggled to himself at the thought of the vainer of the siblings.

"Well enough. Always speaking overmuch of pointless things and always far too concerned with matters beyond her understanding. But she has yet to suffer one of her . . . moments, as you have called them in the past." Bored at last with the nut-turned-work-of-art, he dropped it gingerly into the king's lap.

The Messenger heard the King sigh.

"I am glad then. If it were not too much to hope then I would choose to believe her mind finally healed from the war." He turned his head to look the creature hanging over his shoulder straight in the eye. "I thank you, my friend, for your messages. Will you away once again?"

"Indeed." Ratatosk picked himself up and stretched, breathed deep despite little need for air (who could begrudge him a moment of seldom-found contentment?). "Fare thee well, Elf-king."

"Tread safely, my friend."

Despite a faint longing to explore the rest of the city Ratatosk nevertheless climbed onto Alfheims's branch and headed to the trunk of the Tree.

The work of a Messenger of the Realms was never finished it seemed.

* * *

_The individual Realms rarely exist amicably for long._

_Most often the tensions overflow in the form of short, violent skirmishes._

_Every so often, though, the perceived differences are too great to be resolved by even battles and wars. The hostilities can persist through generations. _

_When families and allies war the matter is very rarely settled peaceably._

_When two Realms long linked by blood and treaties are determined to rule the other the hostilities may never cease._

* * *

The sun was setting on Vanaheim when Ratatosk stepped out on its limb of the Tree.

He decided it was fitting.

If his reckonings were accurate then he had visited Asgard the morning of the previous day, Alfheim this midday and now the last of Asgard's strongest allies in the evening. He never much bothered with the passage of time among the branches but he did remember that those three Realms had a similar sense of it. Someone, somewhere, would surely find irony in the symbolism of the times . . .

He emerged in the Realm's temple beside the sea.

They often called it the King's Temple.

Like all the temples on Vanaheim it was devoted to the husbandry and crossing and harvesting of the various plants the Realm had long specialized in. This one, though, was situated on high cliffs, overlooking the green-blue waves of Vanaheim's single, enormous sea. Unlike the lonely peacefulness found in the mountain temples or the quiet sense of living things in the orchard temples, this place alone retained the overwhelming, thunderous wildness the Realm had been attempting to refine and eradicate all its long existence.

Ratatosk always surprised himself with how pleased he was that the Realm resisted such extensive cultivation.

He glanced around the room for a moment – tall pillars rose around the edges, tapestries hung between them serving as walls to keep the winds and rains out – before inching along the Limb.

King Njord knelt at the edge of one of the temple's many small gardens, the setting sun casting a long shadow toward the edge of the cliff.

The Realm's messenger sat within the shadow to watch.

He was absorbed in replanting a short row of small plants with red stems and bright blue-green leaves. Ratatosk could only stare with curiosity at the clash of colors, a red he had only ever seen in the embers of Muspelheim and the same blue of the ocean far below.

He wondered what the plant did.

He waited until all the plants were safe in the ground before asking and enjoyed the way the king jumped.

"Ah. The Messenger. It has been some time."

Ratatosk merely tilted his head to one side before letting his attention focus on the row of plants.

"This is the latest test of Vanaheim's skill. The leaves of the Veurr herb have been proven over numerous years to be a wonderful help to those whose bodies are not as fortunate in their construction as those of Vanir heritage nor able to enjoy the . . ."

Ratatosk found his attention waning as the man droned on. He had forgotten how much the Vanir King loved to talk . . .

It had been some time indeed since his last visit to this Realm. He could hear in the distant crashing of waves and the breeze as it hit the stone pillars and heavy tapestry-walls, however, how little it had changed in that time. Vanaheim was still a Realm saturated with life. Its energy vibrated along the Branch, through the Limbs, the Twigs . . .

But it was a false sense of life. A constructed web of power.

In Alfheim the Tree sang, spontaneous outbursts of power that rushed down the Branch and sparked joyously through the Realm.

The Vanir had attempted to bring that same flowing energy to their own Realm, and for the most part they had succeeded. But . . . for a guardian of the Tree it was simple work to find places where the energy had been pooled and stored greedily. He could see the great lengths to which the Vanir had long ago opened up the Tree's channels of life and the places where it had been focused.

A river with the temples as the deep pools in which the energy was forced to tarry . . .

" . . . together these traits may prove to be far more effective than when the plants are grown separate. That is our hope, anyway."

Oh, the king had finished speaking and looked at him expectantly.

"Yes . . . ?" Ratatosk tore himself from his contemplations, "Yes, of course_." What was he agreeing to? Oh well, the little king couldn't hold him to anything anyway._ "But I have messages for you. Message. A message."

He would much rather go back to watching the flowing and pooling of the Tree's energy.

Vanaheim always set him a bit on edge.

"Indeed? And who has sent it?" The king pulled himself to his feet, brushing moist soil from his fingers.

"King Odin Alfather has requested I carry a message to Asgard's allies. 'Be ready for war. When Asgard calls, come swiftly.'"

"Of course. Odin _would_ collect tribute of his long-conquered slave realm when his precious city is endangered. Always Vanaheim mus-"

"Be watchful of your speech, Vanir king."

"So you owe him loyalty as well then?"

Ratatosk tittered a moment. "No, no. My loyalty is to the Tree itself, and nothing more. But I am not possessed of an all-seeing gaze like the one whose loyalties you know well."

Njord grimaced.

"Indeed. So the Alfather would call on us for aid . . . What use is Vanaheim should the ravages of war engulf Asgard? We breed plants not soldiers!"

The king's irritation set Ratatosk on edge. He had delivered the message. He wanted to leave now.

But Odin would be wanting a reply.

"But will you lend aid such as you can?" He interrupted Njord's grumbling.

"He commands and expects us to think we can choose otherwise . . ."

Close enough for the Messenger.

Ratatosk left the man grumbling in his displeasure toward another Realm.

He left the uncomfortable feel of a Realm that had learned to use the Tree for its own ends.

He let himself drift among the comforting tendrils of unrestrained energy as his own reward for such a trying visit.

* * *

_This is the shape of the universe._

_The energy of the Tree flows into the branches, the Realms. The paths allow the flow to remain steady along each branch, shifting when the flow changes._

_Ratatosk has seen something similar in the flow of oceans on the Realms which have them. Or in the brief shape of energy when a storm drives it from the ground to the sky. Flat imitations of Yggdrasil and its shape . . . . but passable for those who will never see the real Tree._

* * *

Midgard.

He was pulled along the Branch to where the most recent rupture had occurred. A full decade earlier by that realm's reckoning but the uncolors still sparked and strained and stretched for the forced link once opened between realms.

Life on the other side of the breach had long since gone back to normal. Close to normal, anyway.

Ratatosk, more than anyone, knew that some things couldn't be forgotten so quickly.

They left scars in the rock and dirt, in the memories of those who witnessed tragedies, in the very pattern of shifting energies.

Midgard's Branch was still healing from the unnatural twisting of Yggdrasil's limbs. Its inhabitants may not have been aware of the truth but many could still feel the painful colors of such an abnormal occurrence.

Not the young ones though.

The children remained unaware of the near cataclysm – they felt only the present brightness of a balmy day and the joy of playful imaginings.

Ratatosk noticed the city at the breach held far more children than Asgard. He had reached the Twig's end and emerged in a moderately sized tree. For the time being he had nowhere else to be.

The Messenger of the Tree curled up on the branch to watch and appreciate the joy of the young ones as they laughed within the green haven among stone and steel.

Soon a pair of two young boys made their way close to the tree-line, then crossed into it. The shorter one kept up a fairly constant stream of chatter, with the other interjecting only when he was able.

This second boy sparked with Yggdrasil's energy.

This made Ratatosk uncurl from his repose. He simply _had_ to examine this child. Midgard was not a common location for such a glow to occur.

He began to slowly creep down the side of the tree.

"Vali, look!" Ratatosk cringed at the child's loud cry. "Look at that squirrel!"

The taller of the boys merely stared at the Messenger, eyes narrowed in concentration. The Trickster's child – Ratatosk would know those eyes anywhere.

"Isn't it big?" The Loud One asked. Vali nodded, attention still entirely on the creature clinging to the tree. _Would Mischief's Child see?_

He suddenly dropped to sit cross-legged on the ground and held out his hand.

"Um, Vali? What are you doing? My mom sai-"

"It's ok." The child kept his hand out-stretched.

"But my mom says it has diseases and I shouldn't touch them."

Vali shook his head and smiled. "Not this one." He glanced back over to his friend, "Remind me to tell you of Yggdrasil when we return home."

He Saw.

With a happy chirp, Ratatosk scurried the rest of the way down the tree. He climbed into the seated boy's lap and felt the boy giggle. The Trickster's eyes gazed at the messenger in curiosity as a child's fingers carded through his tail.

The boy had recognized a guardian of the Tree almost instantly. He had his father's insight for certain.

Another voice called out – softer, coming from beyond the small copse of trees – and Ratatosk's head jolted up.

"Mom's calling. We need to go, Vali." The child's shoulders drooped and his smile dimmed. He sighed at the messenger whose tail he had not released.

"I suppose we must." Slowly his fingers slid away.

Ratatosk turned and sat up on his haunches so his eyes were even with Vali's.

"C'mon Vali!"

"Wait a moment, Howard." He kept looking into the messenger's eyes. "You are truly the Tree's Messenger? You are the one father speaks of?" The creature in question tilted his head to the side. If this particular form allowed it he would have given the boy a cheeky smile. "If you see my mother and father can you tell them that all is well? I only wish for them to not worry . . ."

"Vali!" the Loud One inched closer to the line where shade became sunlit grass. "I don't wanna get in trouble!"

"Can you? Please?" The sadness in the child's eyes ran deep – it was not the fleeting frustration of a fussy boy, nor the entitled discontent of a spoiled prince. His emotions stirred Yggdrasil's energy with a melancholy rainbow. Ratatosk chirped softly.

As he jumped away he let his tail catch the boy softly in the face. Vali erupted into giggles at the feel.

Better silver laughter than such downhearted colors.

Beneath him the two children ran back out to their guardian. The Messenger himself remained clinging to the bark a few moments longer.

He had a bit longer to enjoy the peacefulness before he delivered his messages.

* * *

_The Great Tree in all its soundless music and impossible colors is a very strange place._

_It is for any not formed and crafted from its energy. For those not made with the purpose of keeping the balance of energy and matter and magic._

_For the Guardians of its twistings from roots to trunk to upper boughs the planes beyond what mortals call sight and sound carry a gentle reassurance._

_It is when he must find a lesser form that Ratatosk is most uncomfortable._

* * *

The golden Realm vibrated with energy.

Not the energy of Yggdrasil. Well, mostly. The Tree's flow still streamed through the cracks despite the Alfather's order. The command of a mere king could hardly hope to halt the eternal energies of existence itself.

But the energy Ratatosk felt this day was of a different sort.

For the most part the limbs flickered with golden optimism. Then there was the spectrum of emotion and reaction he had always noticed: pride, contentment, assurance. But, this day Ratatosk felt a new color tarnishing the stream. Asgard was apprehensive and, to her shame, _fearful._

He really shouldn't have wanted to laugh so much at that.

The Realm's messenger kept his humor to mere giggling where he clung to rafters and walls and the Twigs of the Tree.

As he crawled along the Twigs, listening to the goings-on of Asgard as he made his way to her king, Ratatosk caught brief scraps of conversations. Everyone was still discussing the most recent disruption.

(Did so little happen on this Realm that such an occurrence was _still_ the most popular topic of conversation?)

The Twig ended at a deserted hallway. Mostly deserted.

Two women stood close together: one speaking in calm, even tones, the other heatedly.

". . . see no point in discussing this further." The Messenger cocked his head, pausing for a moment to listen to the conversation happening below. "I mean no disrespect, Lady Sigyn," the younger woman appeared . . . uncomfortable to the Messenger, her apprehension fluttering over him amidst the shifting energies, "but I would not see you harmed further by a refusal to mourn and let go. You would not be called Faithless should you agree with all Asgard-"

"How can I go against my nature, my title? Renouncing my promise, regardless of the circumstances, will call doubt upon _all_ my promises."

"But how can you . . . I apologize for my forwardness, my Lady . . . how can you bear to still claim the Traitor as husband, when he has hurt you so?"

Oh, now _this_ was most intriguing. The Trickster's young wife was silent. Ratatosk focused intently on her, on the vibrating tendrils of feeling that spread from her.

"Dagmar," she sighed, a tiny flash of purple (so much _feeling_ in that small trinket) as she shook her head "Loki is my husband. I know he can be . . . _trying_ to his family, his people, but . . . he is still my husband. I will not deny him for any reason."

Interesting. The two women remained unaware of the small creature who continued along over their heads as he headed to the throne room.

She was most interesting. None of her words held the color of lies. Not even the colorless sort of lie meant to soothe and placate. Yet she chose her words so carefully. Her words may have been true but they were not what lay deep and close to her heart.

Ratatosk had never before seen much purpose in concerning himself with the Trickster's wife. He wondered now if perhaps that had been an oversight on his part.

This thought carried him to the vaulted ceiling of the Alfather's golden room. He imagined he would enjoy this far more than listening in on the Golden Realm's gossip.

Ratatosk stepped and was then sitting primly on the throne's am. He watched the Alfather's face carefully for surprise, shock, impatience… But his expression remained still.

Not today then.

Immediately, Ratatosk turned his thoughts from mirth to solemnity.

"His _Greatnes_s has requested an answer to his messages?"

Well, close to solemnity.

He could hardly be blamed for such a tone when Yggdrasil's song was anguished and flat in its misbalanced groanings.

"You speak thus to a King?"

Oh how delightful. He had noticed.

"I speak thus to any I wish! King and Slave and Outcast all, as you well know." The Alfather was unmoved – still his one eye kept its steady gaze over his throne room.

"You carry answers from Asgard's allies?"

"Indeed. But are you certain you wish to hear them?"

"I will not bandy words with you this day." His voice felt harder to Ratatosk than he had heard in many long years. "You tarried long in gathering your answers to my discourse."

"You assume, Alfather, that the troubles of a single realm are of such great importance. Yggdrasil sends me where it wills. Surely you must have known this when you gave me the message to carry."

"Speak what you have to say and go. I have not the time to wait overlong for you to glean your humor from Asgard's plight." The Branch's colors twisted tight and dark and ready to burst around Asgard's king.

"No need to be rude, oh King." Ratatosk may have been more sympathetic toward his troubles if Odin had not brought most of them onto himself. "King Njord has pledged his meager services should they be needed. Alfheim has yet to rebuild her strength and has naught to give."

"Can Asgard stand when her allies cannot assist?" The king mused to himself.

Ratatosk saw no reason _not _to answer.

"If it be the state of your allies you concern yourself with . . . perhaps it would have been wiser for your previous Kings to have dealt in mutual benefits over subjugation."

"Your advice is unwanted today. Leave a besieged Realm to its own suffering, and attempt not to make a mockery of it."

For many long moments Ratatosk remained where he perched – staring up at the aged king as he continued his far-sighted surveillance of the empty room.

"I can see my words are for a blind man who refuses to hear." He jumped to the other arm of the throne. "I only hope the loss of eyes and ears is for a brief moment . . . or your Realm may yet again follow the path of your father."

He couldn't even find it in himself to laugh as he climbed back along the twigs until he clung tightly to Yggdrasil's trunk once again.

* * *

_The Realms have not always been so small._

_Worlds are born, worlds die._

_Sometimes they just disappear as the energies of the Tree shift._

_Sometimes the Tree's stability is in danger because of a Realm. Sometimes a mad titan of a ruler threatens the Tree's destruction._

_Sometimes a branch must be removed, the path must be given to Nidhogg's teeth and belly, the individual Realm must be tossed into the dark if Yggdrasil is to continue._

_'Sometimes' is not one of Messenger's favorite words._

* * *

They met where the branches twisted close together before merging.

"Well met, Trickster Prince."

The dark figure froze, took a long time in answering. Ratatosk saw the prince's magic billow, sweep across and out, a ripple of colorful change among the impossible colors of the Tree. It passed over him, through him, not seeing the messenger as anything other than another bit of the universe's energy.

Slowly, the man turned and let his eyes (bright, bright flashing cold in the light of Yggdrasil) pass over the places his spell had touched first.

Ever the cautious one.

Even now not trusting that his magic had spoken truly when it detected no anomaly, not when a mistake could cost him dearly.

"Fear not, fellow Traveler. I have no desire to harm you nor hinder your purpose."

"Then show yourself, Speaker, that I may know your words as true."

Ratatosk often forgot that the beings born in the Realms had not the eyes to see such as he. This Realms-born child most of all, as he had often proved to be more astute in understanding the twistings of the branches than most. Perhaps one day he would see more –

No, the future was Vidofnir's area.

Ratatosk's was the state of the Tree.

And this child was involved very much in the current stability of Yggdrasil.

With little more than a thought Ratatosk let his form become one the Traveler's eyes could see.

And feel, he giggled to himself when the boy tensed as little claws suddenly clutched his the leather-armored shoulder and a tail draped over his shoulder. "You have no reason to fear me, little Trickster."

It was to his credit that the boy did not immediately fling the messenger off his back. He turned his head quickly and let a wary glare pass over the figure settling down on his shoulders.

Ratatosk returned it with a curious tilt off his head.

"Yggdrasil's Messenger . . ." he spoke softly after a few moments of consideration. "Ratatosk. I know not if I should say well met in return or wonder why you have found me."

The creature of the Tree giggled again.

"The first if you will. Our meeting is but a fortunate chance."

"Truly?"

"If it be not chance then it is at the whim of one beyond myself." The Messenger fell silent and busied himself with observing the young prince.

His energies flowed dark around him, but with the bright glints of single-minded purpose. He had not yet been gone so long as to grow bored with his task, it seemed. But, the same eyes Ratatosk had seen alight with melding joy and pain on Midgard shone here with wariness and weariness.

_Ah yes_.

"I carry a message if you wish to hear it." His sudden voice did little to startle the Trickster. Instead his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"A message from whom?" Apprehension and confusion rose from him, the slightest hint of controlled fear bled from him in a sickly flow.

"I happened upon someone most dear to you on Midgard. The child was perceptive enough to recognize me, and daring enough to ask a favor."

The fear faded away, bright hope replaced it.

"Vali?"

"Indeed." Ratatosk could have smiled at the joy in his energies. "The child asked me merely to say he is well."

The boy seemed to struggle with a reply. Or perhaps he only chose his words carefully.

"How is he?"

"I have spoken what he wished me to sa-"

"You know of what I speak. Is he . . . he has not found himself in any sort of trouble so far from home?"

Ratatosk wished his form would allow him to giggle. But he contented himself with an amused-sounding chirp.

"And by trouble do you speak of the kind you find yourself in, or the small kinds that all children partake in? He was in no great danger when we met. And he appears to have found a true friend in a certain loud Midgardian child."

". . . I see." The Trickster's smile was genuine. Amusement gilt the soft hope.

"I thank you for your message, Ratatosk. But if I may ask . . ." The apprehension returned, the worry hued with loneliness. "Have you by chance seen my wife?"

"Hmm . . . indeed I have. What a strange thing it is that I have but recently found her interesting only for you to ask of her."

"Then… she is well?"

"She lives, and holds true to herself. In that respect she is indeed well." The Messenger did not speak of the less physical states: the ones he knew the Trickster wished to hear of.

"You must have heard what I feared would be spoken then," the boy whispered softly.

"Ah yes. The gossip of your treachery. It is yet a favorite topic in Asgard."

He only hummed in response, lost in empty visions. His eyes swept over the glowing streams of non-light without truly seeing them. His magic boiled out in distracting waves of regret and despondence.

Ratatosk wasn't really sure he wanted to let the boy wallow in the consequences of choices made by both him and others. He didn't have time to do so.

But Yggdrasil, for some reason, had some messages of its own.

Not a common thing that. Not exactly rare either, but unusual that the soft notes of the Tree's song would choose to fixate on the Trickster in this moment.

A knot in the lines of Yggdrasil's stability. The Tricksters actions would be most instrumental in the state of its balance.

"Gossip will all fade in time, little Trickster." He attempted to push him from his resignation. The boy had much more yet to do before he was allowed such thoughts. Exactly what, Ratatosk was not privy to.

It was a rare moment indeed for Ratatosk to wish for his brother's Sight.

"You must keep to your set purposes." The Messenger would not force the burden of knowledge on the boy. He need not know all the threads that curled around him. But he must not give up.

"I know this well. I could hardly wish Asgard to fall prey to Muspelheim's flame, regardless of their views of myself."

He pulled the fear and helpless acquiescence back in: the colors ran clear again. He stood up straight, bright eyes meeting the Messenger's.

"You said this meeting was but chance," he mused after a moment. "I have yet many questions I would ask of Yggdrasil's Messenger but . . . I almost feel that to ask is not what was meant for this meeting."

_Sensitive to the Tree's energies indeed._

_"_Indeed. I believe it is meant for our paths to separate for the time being. I am most certain we shall meet again . . ." There was more . . . what else was he to sa-

_Oh yes._

"I may at some point find myself on the golden realm and the realm of mortals," Ratatosk said coyly, "Your little family has proved most interesting. I think I may look for them whilst there."

"Thank you." A simple phrase for such depth of feeling, gratitude for the words Ratatosk had not uttered aloud.

"Now, I will not keep you, little Prince. But, I hope you will remember my warnings, lest this meeting be for naught."

With a brief nod, the Prince who held the fate of more than one Realm in his silver words stepped from the path to emerge at his destination.

And Yggdrasil's Messenger giggled to himself as he let his form merge once more with the energy of the universe. Where he would always wait and listen and feel.


	11. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Two months passed . . . and war never came.

The closing of the Bifrost Bridge had been the first action that Asgard had really taken notice of. Peaceful happiness had been replaced with anxious fear, and the Alfather had been hard-pressed with questions and demands. It had been a difficult task for Odin to balance his answers, allowing Asgard to learn of the perils that surrounded her on every side, and yet conceal from them how deadly that danger truly was. Nearly equal to their fear was their curiosity (and for some even disdain) about the younger Son of Odin's banishment. Loki had not been seen since he vanished from Asgard, and only vague rumors now existed as to his whereabouts. But in time, the Trickster was forgotten, swallowed up by other, much more pressing, matters.

Thor was also plied with questions, but he at least did not need to answer them. Any inquiries that were made – about the mass conscript of Asgard's citizens into the army, Surtur's mysterious silence, and even his brother's betrayal – were all directed back at the Alfather.

Leaving the Prince of Thunder to search for his own answers.

* * *

Standing on one of the high terraces of the Palace, Thor looked out over the city of Asgard sprawled out below him. From this height, he could only see the buildings and structures of the Aesir: the monuments and towers, the battlements and glittering streets and thousands upon thousands of dwellings for those that dwelt under the shadow of the Palace.

But none of the people. Removed as he was, being the Prince of Asgard, Thor could not keep the image of his frightened people out of his mind.

"Two months. Two, long months . . . and still Surtur makes no sign," he muttered.

He did not realize he had spoken aloud until a voice answered from behind.

"What could he be waiting for?" Sif said quietly, coming to stand beside her prince.

"Who can guess the mind of a demon, Sif?" Thor replied with a growl. "Perhaps he needed more time to gather his full strength. He might be taken aback by the loss of the Bifrost for his purposes and is seeking another way into this realm. Or, he may simply be biding his time, waiting for us to either panic or grow lax in our vigilance." He sighed, shaking his head. "In any case, it bodes ill for us."

"There is nothing more any of us can do, Thor," a new voice pointed out. Thor half-turned to look at his friend out of the corner of his eye. Fandral was sitting on the steps of the balcony, idly twirling his dagger. "The Bifrost Bridge is closed, the armies of Asgard are gathering, and the Healers have all placed their protective spells over this city. There is nothing any of us can do now but wait. Idly fretting will give you nothing but sleepless nights."

Thor shook his head ruefully.

"I never have had such patience for that. Loki was always the one for waiting."

"Loki had not the patience to wait for the Alfather to act," Sif muttered under her breath.

"Careful of your words, Sif," Thor warned, turning on her suddenly. "Even now, I will hear no words spoken in anger against my brother."

Sif hesitated, taken aback by Thor's sharp reaction.

"I . . . I meant no disrespect towards you, Thor," she amended. "But you must realize that – brother or not – Loki's actions were treasonous. He even went so far as to declare himself against his home and those he claimed to care for!"

"I refuse to believe that Loki has turned traitor!" Thor snapped.

"Then what is it you believe, Thor?" she demanded. "That Loki's actions have a higher purpose? No good can come from betrayal!"

Thor let his head hang.

Sif was right. When had betrayal ever brought good?

But then, when had Loki ever followed the normal way of things?

"I understand your concern, my friend. But I do not . . ." Thor spun to face her. "I cannot believe that things are so simple."

"But they _are_ simple! Loki has again proven himself to be what we have always thought. Brother or no, Thor, he cannot be other than what he is."

But was that not the very issue? Loki was not like other Asgardians, was not like _any_ inhabitant of the realms Thor had heard of or met. He did not follow in the way of those before him. His choices and actions were those none had taken before.

Loki, and all he did, could never be considered simple.

Why could no one else see that?

"Thor?"

He looked up, and found Sif watching him with a concerned expression.

_Why couldn't she understand that Loki was not always what he seemed to be?_

"Thor . . . tell me what is troubling you." Sif took a step closer, away from the colonnade to join him on the balcony. "There is more you wish to say, I can see that. For weeks now you have hardly been yourself."

A small shuffling movement from behind them, and Thor knew that Fandral was retreating back into the Palace, leaving the two of them alone.

"Speak your heart to me, Thor," Sif said gently. "I swear to you I will listen without prejudice."

Thor longed for his brother's gift with words in that moment.

"These last two months have given me time to think, Sif. To think about how I have conducted myself. Time to think about all that I wished to change, to alter . . . and I always find myself turning towards the thought of Loki . . . and what has possessed him to behave the way he does . . ."

He paused, gathering the scattered threads of his thoughts, trying to compose them in a way that Sif would understand.

"From the time we were children, Loki has always been . . . different. Gifted, perhaps, in ways that Asgard has not been accustomed to. Our people have always valued strength . . . in battle and in our every day lives."

Sif nodded, but Thor could see by her expression that she was growing impatient.

"Thor, I don't understand –"

"Please, Sif, let me continue. Strength was always something I was blessed with . . . but Loki's gifts come from words rather than deeds – THAT has ever been his strength. But . . . the people of Asgard do not see that. They only see a Liar, a Deceiver . . . one who twists the words of others . . ."

"Thor, what are you trying to say? I don't understand why you are so-"

"He's my _brother!_ And everyone thinks such evil of him. Yes, he isn't like other warriors. Yes, sometimes his decisions are very clearly misguided and terrible. But... even if Loki IS the traitor they all believe him to be, WHY can they not accept that he is still my brother?"

"They don-"

"They say such things in my presence! As if my care for him only extends to behind closed doors and that I am to- to just ACCEPT their words, to laugh, to add to the slights... to stand and allow it to continue if nothing else."

"Nobody expects you to-"

"You do the same! ALL of you! All my friends..." His tirade dropped to a whisper.

Thor strode to the balcony's edge. He leaned heavily upon the stone as his gaze wandered over the lights of his home.

"Are there none who are willing to see Loki as I see him?"

There was a long moment of silence.

"Perhaps there are none," she answered quietly. "You have understanding none of us could ever think to have, as you know him as a brother. We see only his outward deeds, but perhaps it is only you who want to see the mind and reasons behind those deeds."

Her words gave him pause, and Thor turned to face her.

"I have never heard you speak this way of Loki before, Sif."

"I speak this way for your sake, not for his," she answered firmly. "But Thor, you must understand that the rest of Asgard cannot see things as you do. A Son of Odin he may be, but surely not even a brother of yours should go unpunished for the wicked things he has said – to all of us, not least of all you."

"I know that, Sif, but . . . but is it not my responsibility to forgive such offenses?"

"If such offenses are repented of, then yes, I will not deny that. But he has not repented, Thor! He has even gone so far as to wish all of Asgard to burn in the coming war! He has abandoned all he once held dear –"

"I cannot believe that!"

"You cannot? Or you will not?"

"It matters not! I could no sooner betray my brother than I could you, Sif!"

Sif hesitated, and then gently laid a hand on his arm.

"You _do_ feel responsible for his betrayal, don't you?"

Thor nodded, struggling to suppress the feelings he had been striving to deny for months now. The feeling of distance . . . of loneliness . . .

"His malady goes back long before this, Sif. I know that now. It began long ago, before any of us had ever wielded one stroke in battle."

"Loki has ever been jealous of your good and noble deeds, Thor . . ."

"It was not the accolades of warriors he craved," Thor interrupted sadly. "He only ever wished for the attentions of an elder brother . . . the love of family . . . If I had given him more when we were children, perhaps he would not-"

"Thor," Sif broke in gently, "Loki's betrayal was not of your making."

"But am I not his brother? Have I not been charged, as his elder kin, to protect him from self-doubt and loneliness? Even in this simple task, I have failed." He shook his head, feeling – not for the first time – that _he_ was the villain. That _he_ was the betrayer . . .

"Thor . . ."

Thor shook his head, gripping the stone of the balustrade before him.

"Is this what it felt like for him?" he murmured at last. "Is this what Loki endured for years on end? Feeling helpless to correct mistakes and misdeeds of the past? Wishing things were different but being unable to change? Feeling as if you are the only one in a room, disconnected from others you care about – however much you may try to deny it?" He closed his eyes, finally allowing his grief full vent. "If anyone deserves this, it is I."

Thor could not see how Sif's own eyes flooded, nor how she shut them tightly, unable to bear the sight of her dearest friend's pain. She put an arm around him, offering him the solace and peace his soul was clearly longing for.

If this was truly Thor's heart being poured out to her, the heart of a brother . . . then Sif knew her heart would break if she knew what pains Sigyn's heart was harboring . . .

* * *

Golden sunlight gently shone through the open window and across Sigyn's tired eyes. It seemed as if she had only just closed her them, but she now found the midmorning sun streaming through her bedroom window, just as it had every morning for years now.

But she found that, once again, she did not feel rested. Once again she did not feel safe, comforted . . . or happy.

Once again, she woke to find herself alone.

It had been two months since this conflict began, almost two months to the day when she had been gently woken from sleep by her husband to tell her that Surtur had risen once again. Nearly as long when her whole world collapsed around her, when her son had sought refuge on another world and her husband had been condemned as a traitor.

Two months since she had been left to defend herself.

Sigyn rose quietly and strode to the balcony window. Below her the city spread out like a vast golden lake, glittering as the suns rose over the distant mountains. Away to her left she could see the waves of the endless sea breaking against the Bifrost Bridge – no longer glowing with inner power but still and silent and empty.

How she wished things could be as they once were long ago.

How she wished this infernal war was over so her family could return to her . . .

How she wished he could be with her again.

Sigyn was startled from her thoughts by a sharp tap on the door to her chambers. She turned and took only three steps forward before the door opened by itself –

"Sigyn, dearest! How are you this morning, cousin?"

- And Sigyn found herself swept into the embrace of Freyja.

It was difficult to disguise her disappointment.

Not that Sigyn did not enjoy her elder cousin's company, but she did not feel in the mood for visitors this early in the morning.

"I am well, cousin," she answered, trying her best to smile.

Freyja's expression was one of pitying delight.

"Oh, dearest, you do not have to pretend with me," she cooed. "I know how difficult these last few months have been for you . . . indeed these last few years have been difficult, I am certain."

"How do you mean?" Sigyn asked, gesturing her cousin to one of the nearby couches. Freyja accepted without once looking away, silk and jewelry rustling in the silence.

"Sigyn . . . ever since you were brought here to Asgard as a young girl, I knew your life here would not be easy. You were never one to enjoy crowds and gossip and affairs of the royal court; you have always preferred the company of books and fellow healers . . . so distressing . . . so unfortunate."

Sigyn carefully hid the smile that came to her face when she saw Freyja shake her head sadly, as if she was discussing the death of a family member. Her cousin always had a flair for the dramatic.

"My dear . . . I hold myself partially to blame for your misfortune," the older woman went on heavily. "If I had not insisted on you being brought here, perhaps you would have led a happier life."

"I am very happy, cousin," Sigyn replied, sitting opposite her visitor. Freyja's head came up, her eyes filled with tears (real or conjured, Sigyn was not certain).

"No. No, dearest, I can see that you are not. Ever since your husband's rather . . . embarrassing outburst at the Feast, I have seen you suffer in silence." She took her hand. "It must be such a burden, such a weight, knowing that you – as pure and innocent and steadfast as you are – had to bear witness to such scandalous behavior."

Sigyn did not know quite what to say, unsure how to take her cousin's words. But deep down she felt a pang of loss, realizing that she – who knew the truth of Loki's behavior – was forbidden to share it with another living soul . . .

"I have heard very distressing things, dearest," Freyja continued, her voice softening. "Most of the court hold your husband in contempt, believing – some even wishing – him to be lost forever. Perhaps it is for the best. But you . . . Sigyn do you know what they say about you now?"

_Please don't say it. Please don't . . ._

" 'The Traitor's Wife.' This is what they call you now. Everywhere I see sad faces and grieving hearts, whenever your name is mentioned. They believe you to be ruined forever, bound as you are to the likes of that Trickster. How cruel he has been towards you all these years!" She paused, holding Sigyn's hand gently. "Dearest . . . no one would blame you if . . . if you chose to . . ."

Sigyn was beyond astonishment.

"What?" she demanded, feeling the first stirrings of frustrated anger deep inside her. "If I chose to do what, cousin? Break faith with him?"

Freyja's expression said everything for her.

"How . . . how can you say such a thing?!" Sigyn whispered, suddenly pulling her hand free. "How can you ask me to break a vow I swore I never would? How can you expect me – _me!_ – the Goddess of Fidelity – to turn my back on the man I pledged my life to? The man who loves me more dearly than his own life? The father of my son? Such a thing is not possible!"

"I am only thinking of your happiness, my dear – "

"Freyja, I am certain you mean well, but let me be clear to you that you know nothing of my happiness! Hear this now – so that all of Asgard may know it – that I will _never_ desert my husband! I will _never_ break faith with him! I would rather _DIE_ than forsake my promise to him!"

Sigyn became aware that she had risen to her feet in her anger, her eyes blinded by stinging tears. How could _anyone_ believe her capable of going back on a promise? They could not know how much she loved Loki . . . nor how much he cared for her. What would happen to him if, upon his return when this war was over, he found she had lost faith in him, had abandoned him like so many others had in the past?

It would be the death of him.

He would never forgive her.

And he would be right not to.

Freyja's expression was, if possible, all the more grieved by her cousin's outburst. With a heavy sigh, she rose from her place.

"I see I cannot convince you to see reason," she murmured. "If that is so, then I am truly sorry. Forgive my interference, cousin. Believe me when I say it was kindly meant."

The silence that followed was broken only by the door closing softly behind her cousin, leaving Sigyn alone once more.

She sank down on the couch with her head in her hands, struggling to calm her racing fears.

_Please, Loki. Please be safe. Please come home to me. Please don't forget your promise to me._

_Come home._

There was no answer but the empty silence around her.

* * *

Loki found himself in Niffleheim.

A blank wall of gray cloud was the sky, the hard gray stone beneath his feet the only set point, nothing to see around him but featureless mist. No sound but his breath. Neither hot nor cold but matching his body's temperature perfectly. Could it be any other Realm?

Loki clenched his jaw. Of all the Realms he could have discovered a new path to it just _had _to be the one he didn't have time to explore. He let his perceptions stretch out, searching…

There.

Behind him and slightly to the left was another path between Realms. Slowly he turned, keeping the path's direction firmly placed, until he was pointed toward it. For several long moments he remained still.

The mist watched.

He could feel it - them. The restless dead trapped by their own unfulfilled desires, by regrets and stolen time they refused to part with. A myriad of thoughts and emotions flitted by just beyond the reach of his senses. To move now was to invite their attention.

Bracing himself, he took a step. Then another. Into the enfolding curtain of mist he walked, keeping always his attention focused on the pathway somewhere ahead . . .

It was about a dozen steps in that he felt something brush against him, soft like a cobweb dragging over his awareness. He caught a brief flash of something that felt young, innocent, curious . . . before he was left alone with the gray.

Three steps later images began to form. At first, nothing but vague shapes, just enough to catch his eye as a feature among the blankness. Then, recognizable shapes: an old man with a cane hobbling along barely a foot to his right, a fluttering at his left showed a woman carrying a child. He looked away quickly, throat tight, and found that the old man had become a young warrior girded in an ancient style of Vanir armor.

And then the mist coalesced in front of him. A very young girl looked up at him, long hair flying as if in a breeze. For a moment she reminded him of a girl he knew so many years ago, pale hair fluttering as she carefully lowered herself from the hiding place she had found in his tree… but the eyes were the same gray as everything around him. He walked through it quickly, scattering the image.

"…leave m…" a whisper in his ear as loud as a shout in the silence. He forced himself past shapes that were becoming clearer.

"…on't go…"

"…ust help th…"

The whispers followed him, even as he left the figures behind.

"…just _abandon _us!"

He stopped, whirling toward the sound. It was Sigyn's voice…

"…back to me…"

Without thinking he darted towards her voice, disregarding the part of him that screamed to ignore it, to keep focused on the pathway…

What was she even _doing _here? He had to find her, get her hom-

The mist became a place he recognized. The very tree they had first met – and hidden in the shadow of the boughs was a couple collapsed against the trunk, holding tight to each other. Sobs echoed in the silence.

He had never wished for her to be so hurt by his words . . .

Tearing himself away from the scene only brought him to another. A glass prison, a dark figure screaming at another smaller figure, both collapsing to the ground, the clear wall between them keeping them apa-

"Stop . . ." he gritted out, closing his eyes, replacing blank gray with the darkness of his own memories.

All the times he had hurt her, with words or deeds or inaction . . . how she gave so much and he just took and took and to-

"-ank you, brother-"

"…ver forget how much I love you, my so…"

"…you still not call me Father?"

Loki stumbled forward and still the voices followed him.

"_Stop!_" he cried out. He felt stone impact suddenly against his knees, hands. Pain flashed through him.

It grounded him.

The voices still whispered but he did all he could to ignore the pleading voices of his regrets. He reached out again, past the formless shapes, past the whispers, past the half conscious spirits around him . . .

The path was behind him.

He dragged himself up, hands clenched, legs stiff, eyes closed. He followed the pulling of the nearest path as the voices swirled around him . . .

Seventy-eight steps later he was before the doorway. The mist parted like a curtain and the gray, the shapes, the voices were gone.

One more step and he was in a twilight lit alleyway; a shapeless bundle that might have been a thinking being before the mead got to them and who emitted a pungent odor was his only company. A quick glance up to the sky showed him the stars of Nidhavellir.

Nearly as bad as Niffleheim in his opinion. A quickly whispered word and the only occupant any passerby would see was again the drunk snoring loudly in the gutter.

* * *

Whispers followed her wherever she walked now.

Sigyn was used to such looks from her fellow Healers, people who were close enough to know and trust her but distant enough to not truly understand her. It had not always been so; there was a time, long ago now, when others felt perfectly at ease in her presence, when she felt as if she belonged. When she had first been brought to Asgard, Eir herself had said more than once that Sigyn was by far the most gifted apprentice she had ever known.

That was so long ago now, that it seemed nothing more than a distant memory.

The whispers had begun when she first bound herself to the Prince of Asgard. No one had really seemed to take any notice of her friendship with him for hundreds of years. But the instant it was known that the Vanaheim Healer would give her hand in marriage to the Sorcerer Prince of the Golden Realm . . . that was when she began to notice the sidelong glances she received from the others, the way they murmured behind her back and seemed unwilling to look her in the eyes.

It had troubled her at first. Why could no one but Loki's family understand that she truly loved the younger Son of Odin?

But in time her husband's love and affection drowned out the disquieted whisperings around her.

As long as he was with her nothing else mattered.

But now he was gone . . .

Freyja's words haunted Sigyn's every step as she made her way to the Healer's House. She knew her cousin meant no harm, that she did – in her own confusing, exasperating way – truly have Sigyn's best interests in mind. But that did not mean that it did not pain her to think about it.

Did Asgard truly wish her to abandon Loki? To forsake her promises simply to distance herself and her reputation from Loki's disgraces? She would not allow herself to even consider such a betrayal.

The moment she entered the Healer's House, every other occupant quickly looked away and walked out of her path, as if they were afraid she was something unclean. Even Eir seemed distant as she smiled at her – with none of the warmth customary to the Master Healer.

"I am glad to see you, Sigyn," she said quietly as they walked through the corridor together. Even to Sigyn's trusting ear the uncomfortable statement sounded hollow. "I have been deeply concerned for you these last few months."

"Yes, I am sure," Sigyn answered, striving to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"You have not been yourself as of late," Eir continued. "I can only imagine how difficult all of this has been for you."

"Perhaps if I were not so trusting a child, things would have turned out quite differently."

Eir's steps hitched, just noticeably, and she quickly looked down at her hands.

"Perhaps," she murmured.

"That was truly what you thought, Eir?" Sigyn demanded, drawing the Master Healer's gaze up to her own. "That Loki had deceived me – lied to me, threatened me, forced me – into marrying him?"

"Sigyn, I did not mean-"

"Then what did you mean?" she asked, straining with every ounce of control she still possessed to remain calm and rational.

Eir hesitated before answering.

"Sigyn, dear, you must understand that I have only ever wished for your happiness-"

"I _was_ happy, Eir! I was never so happy as when Loki asked me to be his wife. And I am still, no matter what you or Asgard or any other realm would say of him!"

"But . . . Sigyn . . . look at who he is. At _what_ he is! Your life has been nothing but misfortune since you bound yourself to him."

_Misfortune?_

She had a husband who loved her more dearly than any other ever had in her life. She had a dear friend who, in spite of his past and his wild tendencies, had always been a balm for her soul. She had a son who loved his mother and father so much that it made all the pains and all the heartaches worth it.

She had a family.

And nothing – _nothing!_ – would make her wish for more.

"Marrying Loki was the best decision I have ever made," she answered firmly. "If this makes me a child and a disgrace in your eyes, then I am truly sorry."

Sigyn turned and walked away from her mentor, left standing by the colonnade to wonder – and perhaps pity – at the trusting folly of her apprentice.

* * *

The Throne Room was unusually empty that morning.

Perhaps the court was anxious due to the continued silence of Muspelheim. Perhaps they were simply tired of demanding the same answers over and over again.

Or perhaps Odin's own anxiety had driven them all from his presence.

In either event, it was a relief to be left to his own thoughts for a time.

In these last two months since Loki departed Asgard for realms unknown, Odin had spent a great deal of time alone. He needed time to think, to plan . . . and to convince himself over and over again that his decision to send his son into Surtur's hands was the right decision.

It was difficult to keep reminding himself of the reasons why he had chosen Loki for this task. Surtur could not be swayed by strength of arms, and he would never trust anyone such as Thor or Sif or Tyr or any other of Asgard's warriors. Intellect and cunning had always been Loki's strengths, and he was the only one who could contrive a scheme twisted enough to both earn Surtur's trust while at the same time blind him to his true intentions.

There was no other decision he could have made . . . and he hoped with all his soul that Loki was alive and well and would find the strength to do what needed to be done.

The mark of a true king . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, echoing knock on the Throne Room doors. He waved a hand to the guards standing on either side, bidding them open the doors. As the huge gate was swung open, a lone figure stepped over the threshold.

Golden hair. Dark eyes. Amethyst robes.

Odin smiled.

"Come forward, Sigyn Birgirdottir."

"I do not wish to intrude, Alfather," Sigyn replied, but her walk never slowed or hesitated in the slightest.

"Your presence could never be considered an intrusion, my daughter. What is your wish?"

Sigyn halted at the foot of the dais, her head twisting slightly to regard the two soldiers standing watch behind her.

"If I may speak with you alone, Alfather . . .?"

Odin turned his puzzled look from her to the two guards.

"Leave us."

The Alfather waited until the doors closed, leaving an echoing silence in their wake.

"You are not pleased, Sigyn?"

"I am always pleased to see you, Alfather."

Odin felt his gaze soften, his smile warming.

"Sigyn, there is no need for you to stand on ceremony like this with me. I know you almost as well as I know my sons . . . you need not hide your true feelings from me."

Instead of his daughter relaxing, shoulders easing from the tension he saw even from that distance, he saw her harden, stiff and cold like winter's frost. Midnight eyes became icy, her mouth tightened as her jaw clenched together, and her own hands became fists at her sides.

"Since you demand my honesty, Alfather, then I feel I must say what is on my heart. I have . . ." she looked away briefly. "I have never, in my life . . . how could you do this to me?" Her eyes snapped back to his - fire now in her stare, burning through the frost.

Odin said nothing, but waited for her to continue.

After only a moment of silence, the storm was unleashed.

"How could you do this to me?! To Vali? To Loki? Your own _son_, a man you claim to love as dearly as Thor? How could you condemn _my HUSBAND_ to bear this task alone?"

"Because there was no other wa-"

"Do you know that with certainty? Was there not something else that could have been done, something besides sending Loki off into the den of that _monster_ - alone, unaided, with not even a whisper of gratitude?"

"Sigyn, I know you love him. As do I, though you may not trust my word. Loki has accepted this task at my bidding . . . and to protect you, to protect your son-"

"Protect us from what?" she snapped, no longer speaking to the ruler of the known universe but to the man she had called father for years . . . "Protection from outward threats was something he could have done here - _HERE!_ - home in Asgard! By sending him to Surtur, you have not _protected_ me from anything! You have only taken from me my only defense against the poisoned tongues of this realm, the very citizens my husband is trying to save!"

"They will come to understand-"

"They will _NOT!_" she shouted. "They have always wished ruin and hardship upon Loki's head and now . . . with his "betrayal" known in every corner of Yggdrasil . . . do you know what they say about him? About ME?"

There was nothing Odin could have said to her to comfort her. He, too, knew the whispers spoken by every mouth in Asgard . . .

"Loki warned me of this," Sigyn went on thickly, trying to keep back her tears of anger. "He knew this was likely to be. He had spoken of what others would say about me if anything of this kind happened again. To all of Asgard, I am no longer known as Sigyn the Healer . . . the _traitor's wife_, they call me now."

The pain in her eyes when those words were torn from her throat made Odin's heart sink in his chest.

Just as quickly as it came the pain went, cold, frigid ice hardening, anger snuffed out in one blast of winter's chill.

"If this is to be my fate, then so be it. But I promise you this, Alfather-" here Sigyn the Healer disappeared, and all Odin saw was a likeness to his missing son, "if any harm comes to Loki because of this scheme of yours . . . if he comes home to suffer the scorn and hatred of Asgard – or does not return at all – I. Will. _Never_. Forgive you."

Never before had the Goddess of Fidelity broken a promise.

Alfather or no, Odin felt a stirring of dread deep in his heart.

Sigyn held his gaze for only a moment longer. Then, turning on her heels, she stormed out of the room, leaving behind a cold chill in her wake.

Odin sat still for only a moment longer . . . and then he, too, slowly followed the Healer's footsteps.

* * *

Hidden in the protection of the surrounding dark, Loki did his best to calm his racing heart.

Behind him he heard the heavy footfalls and angry voices of his pursuers, and he prayed his hiding place would remain undetected.

Darker shadows among the blackness around him rushed passed, and he had to force himself not to try to duck back further out of sight.

He had meant to come to Svartalfheim to distract his enemies, to lay a trail behind him so as to make his banishment from Asgard more believable. But he had no idea how many of his enemies were waiting for this chance to finish off the God of Mischief.

Worse still, this distraction was keeping him from focusing on finding the secret paths that led out of this place.

Before his line of thought had finished, the night around him was plunged back into comforting silence. The Dark Elves had passed on.

Loki let out a tiny breath of relief, closing his eyes and trying very hard not to panic. Free now from the fear of pursuit, he put all of his magic and concentration into finding the nearest pathway out of this accursed darkness.

But a sudden change in the flow of powers around him made him pause. An insistent feeling drew his focus passed his intended doorway, and he found his gaze straying out into the darkness.

There was another path hidden somewhere to his left . . . a path that might lead him to something he had been wishing to see for so long now . . .

Loki made up his mind quickly. There was still time, time to take that second pathway and spend a few precious moments with a treasure he had hidden away. Carefully taking a look around him, he stepped out of his hiding place and into the open, allowing his senses to stretch out as far as he dared without attracting attention.

It took him less than a minute to locate the hidden pathway . . . and only ten seconds after that to realize his presence had been detected.

He managed to open the path and slip through only seconds before the Dark Elves came back to the clearing . . .

Finding only the black emptiness of the forest.

* * *

It was a quiet knock that pulled Frigga from her thoughts.

Before she could say anything, before she could even rise from her couch, the door slowly opened. The Queen felt a smile slip over her worried expression when she saw her daughter-in-law quietly step into the room. She had seen very little of Sigyn in the last few months, and it was a pleasant surprise to find that she had sought her out.

But one glance at the young woman's face told Frigga that this would not be a happy reunion.

Sigyn looked much older than when Frigga had seen her last. She looked despondent, tired, like a tender sapling burdened beneath a tempest that it could only withstand for so long.

"I am sorry for coming in this way, Mother . . ."

"Nonsense, Sigyn! Come in."

"I did not know where else to go . . ."

That quiet voice melted her smile from her face.

"Sigyn . . . tell me. What's wrong?"

Sigyn seemed to sway on her feet, looking as if she wanted to say something. But no words were needed; Frigga could see every word Sigyn wished to say in her pale face, in the eyes clouded with the threat of tears – tears she had shed far too often.

"Sigyn . . . ?"

Frigga rushed forward to catch the Vanir woman in her arms before she collapsed.

Sigyn clung to her, hiding her tears as Frigga held her close, sobs that she had held back for two long months now finally finding release.

"I miss him, mother," she whispered brokenly. "I miss him . . . so much . . . I can't . . . how much longer must I endure this alone? How long must . . . must I wait, not knowing . . . not knowing where he is . . . if he's safe . . . if he'll ever come home . . . ?"

Frigga had no answer for her daughter, nothing to console her with. All she could do was hold her, let her cry her fears into her shoulder . . .

"I didn't want him to leave . . . I never wanted him to . . . I need him. When the nightmares come . . . when I wake in the darkness . . . it would be bearable if only . . . if only he was here . . . if only I could see him . . . Mother, please . . . tell me he will come home! Tell me he will be safe . . . if something were to happen to him, I . . ."

"Hush, Sigyn, don't talk like that," Frigga answered soothingly, cradling her head. "Loki would not have you think such black thoughts."

"But I miss him," the sobs continued, more felt than heard. "I want him home – _now_. I want my son home . . . I want things as they were before . . . I want . . . I want my _family_ back . . ."

She could have cheered her, could have assured her with promises and hopes that of course Loki would return, would return and set everything right again. She could have told her that Vali would be home soon, the boy that brought so much light and joy to her children's lives. She could have promised her that her Prince would come home to still her fears, hold her through the nightmares, and never leave her again.

Frigga could have said all those things.

But she didn't.

Nothing was certain . . . and false promises would only make the end more tragic.

* * *

"Pardon me, sir."

The quiet voice of Tony's A.I. butler jarred him from his concentration on the intricate bit of machinery in front of him.

"What now, Jarvis?" he asked, most of his attention still commanded by the tiny circuit board.

"There seems to be an intruder in the tower."

"Wait, what?" Tony jumped up, leaving his most recent project behind. "Where are they Jarvis?"

"The intruder remains in Master Howard's room, sir."

Tony was out of the room almost before Jarvis finished the sentence. As he rode the elevator up to his family's level he cursed desperately under his breath, jamming the floor button several times a second in a futile effort to make it go faster.

When the elevator finally stopped he ran down the hall to his son's room and slammed the door open.  
For only a moment he saw a dark shape sitting on a bed. He saw the head lift, saw thin features, bright green eyes wide with surprise . . .

Then the moment passed and the room was empty but for his son and his friend.

"Dad?"

Tony looked to the side and saw his son sitting up in his bed. Not the bed the dark figure had been sitting on.

"What is it, dad? What's wrong?"

Tony looked back at the other bed occupying the room. Vali had also sat up and was staring back at him. He forced himself to release the breath he had been holding.

"It- it's nothing Howard. Jarvis thought something was here."

"Oh. I didn't see anything. Did _you _see anything, Vali?"

Loki's son continued to stare quietly at Tony, only a slight shake of his head disrupting his stillness. His green eyes were so similar to a pair Tony had only recently seen shining with anything other than madness or wrath. The same shade of the eyes filled with surprise at his entrance . . .

"Yeah. Alright. Sorry I woke you up. Sleep tight, boys."

"Night, Dad! Hey that was kinda exciting wasn't it, Va-" The door latched shut and muted the rest of his son's chattering.

Tony made his way down the hall much slower than before. It gave him time to think on what he saw. He was almost completely positive that the dark shape had been Loki. But, just knowing who it had been did very little to tell him _why_ he had just shown up randomly like that. Especially now that he was a villain again.

Somehow, though, Tony was sure he wouldn't find his answer with that train of thought.

It took the whole ride back down to the workroom for him to finally stumble onto something that made sense. It came back to the eyes. Vali had Loki's eyes. His father's eyes.

His _father_.

Tony wondered why it had taken him so long to actually realize that. As . . . weird and nauseating as it was to him that Loki had managed to . . . well, _reproduce_, the evidence was right there. Loki may have been a major pain in Earth's nether regions as well as a slimy little snake but . . . he was also a parent.

And villain or not, a father is a father.

Tony was willing to give a father at the bed of his kid a bit of slack.

* * *

It had been a great relief to see his son safe and content enough to sleep so deeply.

However much he may have disliked his brother's Midgardian lackeys and his distaste of mortals in general, he had to admit that at least Vali seemed to be well-protected and adequately distracted from the troubles of the universe.

Loki had not truly left when the blundering idiot stumbled in. He was the tiniest bit surprised that he had not sensed him until the door had opened but he attributed that to his own distracted state of mind.

It had been so long since he had seen his son.

He longed for nothing more than to hold him tightly. But, should Vali have seen him, had he known he was there, Loki did not know if he would be able to resist any request.

Even if it were to give up his mission and return home.

And Loki couldn't do that. Not if it meant the end of everything he held dear.

So the closest he came was to sit and watch his son sleeping in the moonlight. And then to listen to the chattering of the idiot's son, his own son occasionally speaking a word or two in response. He watched until the loud one's voice (Ratatosk had been quite correct in his description, Loki found) slowed, then stilled. He waited for his own child to watch his friend fall asleep before lying back down.

Too soon, Loki knew it was time to leave.

It was time for the Alfather's scheme to truly begin.

With the wish that this image of a sleeping child would not be the last time he saw him Loki took a step across the worlds.


	12. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

If there was one realm that the rest of the universe knew to fear, it was the hellish world of Muspelheim.

A land pervaded with lakes of fire. With great chasms that rent the ground into jagged pinnacles and deep ravines. With mountains that spewed ash and dust into the dark, foul air. A realm of unbearable heat and an ever-present feeling of danger. A land that only Demons could call home.

Buried deep within the side of a mountain, far taller than the rest, a vast fortress loomed over the desolate landscape. Battlements and pinnacles and towers stretched up into the gloom, carved out of the dying rock itself. That fortress had once been the crowning monument to Surtur's power, built thousands of years ago at the height of the Fire Demon's reign. But the war between Muspelheim and Asgard had robbed that fortress of much of its strength and power. And when Odin had defeated the Fire Demon and banished him from his body, the fortress had stood empty and silent, slowly falling into ruin in the absence of the master of that realm.

Now, the landscape was lit with the fires from thousands upon thousands of Surtur's soldiers, rallied by the return of the Lord of Muspelheim.

Amidst this land of preparation and anticipation there could be found a few fire demons who, as soldiers have done since the very dawn of battle and war, found a few moments to ignore what was soon to come.

Their method was healthy competition. Their mode was balls of fire flung at the landscape.

Their shock was a small figure that was most certainly not a rock that suddenly dropped down out of nowhere directly in the path of their sport.

There was only time for them to see the eyes widen in terror before fire engulfed the tiny figure. There was a moment of uncertainty, and several soldiers already had their hands on the hilts of their weapons, on the chance that their unknown quarry had survived the accidental assault.

But when the flames died down and the smoke cleared, it showed the black, empty landscape . . . with the tiny figure rapidly vanishing into the darkness.

The soldiers of Muspelheim instantly abandoned their game for a much more interesting chase.

* * *

A loud, raucous noise was the only warning Surtur had before the doors to the chamber were flung open.

Ordinarily he would have instilled a healthy dose of fear and discipline into his soldiers for interrupting his planning so rudely. As it was he was just preparing to rush down on those fools and slit a few of their throats when he caught sight of the reason for their excitement.

One of his lieutenants stepped forward, hauling a small bundle behind him. Glee was written all over his face, and the jeers of his fellows echoed like thunder over the stone walls. He stopped not ten feet away from Surtur.

"We found something of interest, Lord Surtur," the demon growled, flinging a small heap of leather and metal at the feet of the Fire Demon. "A worm crawled out of exile. Practically dropped in on our front door."

Surtur rose to his feet, towering above his soldiers. But his black eyes never left the prisoner that lay before his feet.

Slowly the tiny figure looked up. Vibrant green eyes, glinting in the light of fires all around, looked up to lock with his own.

"Well, here is a pretty prize: a Son of Odin, cowering like the snake he is. And here I thought I would have to actually _search_ for a traitor . . ."

The prisoner let out a low chuckle as he rose to his feet, smoothing the wrinkles from his cloak.

"Not to split hairs, but I believe it was your _soldiers_ who captured me."

"And how did such a thing come about?"

"Perhaps they were simply more cunning than I."

"You have seen my soldiers, Trickster. How clever could they possibly be?"

"Far more clever than many I've met in my travels," he gave a brief glance to the hulking forms around him, "but I see your meaning."

"What are you doing here, Loki?" Surtur demanded.

The figure before him gave him what he must have thought was an innocent look.

"Serving as sport for your soldiers, it seems," Loki replied, brushing ash from his shoulder as he gave the surrounding group another sidelong glance.

"Enough with your excuses, Trickster!" Surtur growled impatiently. "Speak the plain truth before I rip it from your deceitful tongue."

"Really, now," Loki replied with a laugh, "there is no need for threats with me."

"Then tell me what you are doing here!"

There was a low snort of derision before Loki continued.

"You can hardly expect an outcast to be truly accepted anywhere. Especially in such a short time and if said outcast has had... bad dealing with most Realms in the past. It was mere chance that I came through in the midst of your army. I would have much preferred a less... distasteful end to my little walk."

"Indeed. Do you take me for a fool, Odinson? Do you believe I have no knowledge of your skills in magical arts? One so . . . formidable . . . as yourself is not simply captured on a whim."

Loki gave a rueful shake of his head.

"Ah, the great and powerful Surtur has found me out. Then I shall reveal my true intent in coming here. I have come to join the mighty Ruler of Muspelheim!"

There was a pause. Then slowly, like the rising of a windstorm, a harsh, grating noise rose over the echoing silence around them. The noise quickly grew into a roar, as all of the soldiers around them joined with their master's laughter.

"If you fail as a magician, you would make a fine jester, Odinson," Surtur hissed.

"My chosen profession occasionally allows me to be both," Loki smirked.

Surtur's smile in return had no humor in it . . . and no mercy, either.

"The _truth_, Odinson. I grow weary of this game."

For a moment the two enemies merely stared at each other, their mutual distrust evident to every soldier within earshot.

"The truth?" Loki finally asked. "I arrived in your realm entirely by accident. Hiding from the eyes of all of the Nine Realms is not an easy task, and finding hidden pathways is always more difficult when you are on the run."

"A Prince of Asgard, _running?_" Surtur hissed with a wicked smile. "Tell me, Loki, if you are indeed in so great a danger as you claim, why not simply cower behind the Alfather, as you have done for time beyond count?"

Loki's smile soured, and Surtur saw a flash of bitter resentment in those emerald eyes.

"Asgard, it seems, has no welcome for the likes of me. Nor does the Alfather. Banishment is the only reward left to the younger Son of Odin."

Surtur's smile broadened. He was finding this tale highly amusing, and was enjoying the other's discomfort enormously.

"One too many tricks, Loki?"

"One too many _truths_, Surtur," the other snapped. "The Realm Eternal apparently did not wish to hear how far it had fallen, how depraved and corrupted its people – not less its leaders – have become. They took exception to me exposing their character flaws and past sins . . . and so cast me from their assembly."

"The words of Silver-Tongue have always been laced with poison," Surtur mocked. "Asgard has finally seemed to have had their fill of it."

Loki paused, eyeing Surtur sarcastically.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself, Surtur," he observed. "But yes, Asgard finally closed their eyes and ears to that which they do not wish to hear. I would rather they had simply died from my poisoned words, but alas, that corrupt world is allowed to continue."

Surtur allowed his amused smile to fade, to harden.

"Yes . . . but it will not last forever."

Loki cocked an eyebrow, and after a pause answered.

"Really?"

"I swore to the Alfather that I would return to Asgard one day and repay him for every one of his past sins . . . not the least of which was banishing me to parts unknown."

"It would seem that we have something in common, you and I," Loki observed.

"Hardly," Surtur snapped. "_I_, at least, still have an army at my command. _You_ have _no one_."

"And how to you intend to repay the Alfather as you so desire?" the Trickster asked, apparently choosing to ignore Surtur's insult. What a shame.

"I will force him to watch as his beloved Asgard burns to ashes . . . before I return the courtesy he bestowed upon me so long ago."

"And how do you intend to carry this out?" Loki asked curiously. When Surtur did not immediately reply, the Frost Giant Prince continued. "Surely you know that the Alfather has closed the Bifrost. How do you intend to reach Asgard without the help of that main gateway?"

"Time will provide an answer. Time and patience."

"Time and patience alone will not aid you in sneaking an entire army into Asgard under Heimdall's nose."

"You speak as if you knew an answer, Odinson," Surtur snapped, feeling annoyed in spite of himself at the Trickster's incessant questions.

Loki shrugged casually.

"One or two, as a matter of fact. But why would you listen to a Trickster such as I? It's not as if _I_ know anything about the paths between worlds and the art of deception and hiding from watchful eyes."

Surtur eyed Silver-Tongue for a long moment. If he didn't know better, it sounded to him as if Loki was offering his help. Why would he choose to do so? Certainly he was bitter and resentful towards Asgard, and Surtur knew that the Alfather was hardly on good terms with his son for years now. But why would Loki offer up an opinion if he did not in some way mean to deliver on it?

Loki was hiding something. And Surtur had every intention of learning what it was exactly that the Trickster had in mind.

"Why?"

"A locked gate is always easier to open from the inside."

"And why should I trust you? Why should I not simply cut your head from your shoulders and spare us all your twisted tales?"

A dozen or so flaming swords were lowered at this, all scant inches from the Frost Giant Child's neck. For a brief moment, there may have been a flash of something akin to fear in those emerald eyes, but an instant later the Trickster adopted a very – almost _genuinely_ – hurt expression.

"This is the thanks I receive? Can you really be so heartless as to slay an old ally out of spite?"

Surtur felt his eyes narrow.

"Choose your words carefully, Son of Odin," he warned dangerously. "One more lie and I shall have your head as a trophy. What do you mean by 'old ally'? When have you ever done other than hinder me?"

"Who do you think it was that showed you where the Flame was hidden?"

Another pause hung over the assembly, and Surtur never took his black eyes from those small green points of light.

"You?"

Loki shrugged haphazardly.

"I may have had a small hand in that affair."

It may have been the truth, but Surtur knew Loki well enough to know that it could also have been a very clever lie. No one could trust the words of a serpent.

"Did you indeed? Why?"

Loki laughed.

"That seems to be your favorite question, Surtur, isn't it? Why? Perhaps I was simply bored and wished for a bit of fun. Why else would a Trickster play his game?"

Surtur took a long time to consider this. There was no way of knowing whether or not Loki's last statement was entirely true. The Fire Demon lord briefly entertained the thought of torturing the truth from Loki's mouth. It would certainly put the fear of Muspelheim into the Liar's heart . . . fear that Surtur could see had worn off over these last five years since their last encounter. But Surtur also knew that Loki had passed through equally unpleasant experiences in the past and emerged relatively unscathed. In spite of his slight stature and relative weakness – at least compared to his brother Thor, or any other warrior of the Golden Realm – Loki was a difficult man to bend to anyone's will. His stubbornness and intellect served as a shield . . . a shield that would not be easily broken.

No. Torturing him – for information and for Surtur's own satisfaction – would be too time-consuming. He had waited too long already, waited for his full strength to be gathered, and waited to allow time to solve the frustrating puzzle of the Bifrost's closure.

Fate had sent the Traitor son of Odin into his midst. And as dangerous as that was, it was also too good an opportunity to pass up.

"You seemed to have secured yourself a great deal of fun on Alfheim, Loki," Surtur hissed. "Were you simply so bored that you wished to risk my wrath when you stole the Eternal Flame from me?"

"Stole? That sounds a bit harsh, don't you think?" Loki answered, looking puzzled. "Stealing from someone usually implies that they had their treasure in the first place. You, very clearly, did not."

With a rush Surtur seized the collar of the Trickster's robes and lifted him roughly off of his feet. A small whisper of laughter rang out from his on-looking soldiers as they watched the Son of Odin dangle eight feet off the ground with Surtur's large, flaming hand clutching his throat.

"Where is the Flame, Odinson?" Surtur demanded blackly, forcing Loki's face with inches of his own. "Where did you hide it?"

Loki's expression was carefully neutral, with no hint of terror or pain on his face – terror and pain that Surtur felt sure the Frost Giant Prince was feeling. Loki, trouble-maker though he was, was no fool.

"Where do you _think_ I hid it?" he returned in a stiff voice.

There was a pause.

"You think the Alfather was foolish enough to return the Flame back to Asgard?"

"No, I think he is _brilliant_ enough," Loki answered. "Asgard is one of the strongest fortresses in all of the Nine Realms; retrieving it would be no easy task."

Surtur tightened his grip on Loki's throat, his eyes narrowed to mere slits.

"If this be a trick, Odinson, a lie," he warned, "then I will exact such punishment from your miserable skin that you will wish yourself dead."

Loki's smile was brittle.

"How could I lie to one who has my throat in his hand?"

Lie or not, Surtur felt it was a risk worth taking.

"If you ever hope to leave his place alive, then you will redeem yourself by aiding me in retrieving the Flame."

"I will do better than that," Loki answered, his smile a stark contrast to his hard eyes. "I will retrieve it myself. What better way to exact my vengeance on the head of the Alfather than to assist in bringing about his downfall?"

"And what of your family, Loki? Your _dear_ wife Sigyn would be destroyed along with the rest of Asgard."

He said this in a voice so quiet that no one else in that room could have possibly heard it. Surtur knew Sigyn very well, better perhaps than the Trickster god knew her himself. He had shared her thoughts and memories for years, long ago now, before his own body had been remade. Sigyn was Loki's one weakness . . . and Surtur hoped it would draw at least a hint of doubt from Loki's eyes.

But he saw nothing but hardened resolve.

"If she truly cared for me as she claimed, she would have been willing to face exile alongside me."

There was no way for Surtur to tell whether or not this was just another lie in the Trickster's web. But it did not really matter, not yet. If Loki swore to work for him, he would learn the truth in time.

"A generous offer," Surtur agreed. "We shall see just how genuine that offer is."

He slowly set Loki back down on his feet, and the ripple of disappointment from the ring of soldiers around them was almost palpable. Surtur slowly looked up from the Trickster to his lieutenant.

"Take your soldiers and leave," he ordered. "The Son of Odin and I must speak in private."

It was a disappointed crowd that departed the room. The huge stone doors shut with a resounding clang, leaving Loki and Surtur alone.

"So," the Demon Lord began slowly. "The Flame has returned to Asgard. You claimed you could retrieve it from its hiding place. How?"

"Not with strength of arms," Loki replied, adjusting his robes where Surtur had seized him. "Asgard, being the warrior realm as it always has been, would expect you to come in full force to seize the Flame. They have surely been preparing for a massive siege . . . and we can use this to our advantage."

Surtur chose to ignore the Trickster's use of "we."

"What do you suggest?"

Loki's eyes lowered, clasping his hands behind his back, seeming to lose himself in thought as he began to pace the floor.

"A small force would be preferable, as only a few soldiers could stand the chance of slipping through Asgard's defenses more easily. They must be clever and swift; any blundering fool could wield a sword in battle . . . but it takes one of greater talent to slip by unnoticed."

"No matter the size of the force used," Surtur growled, "with the Bifrost closed it would make any assault nigh impossible. I have been searching for a way to penetrate the bridge into Asgard."

"You are wasting your time," Loki snorted derisively. "There is no way to open the Bifrost from any end other than Asgard; I myself have been searching for years and have found no such weakness. No, that way into the Golden Realm is shut." Here he looked up with a smile. "But that does not mean that the Bifrost is the _only_ way."

"Are you trying to convince me that there is a path between Muspelheim and Asgard?" Surtur demanded, feeling a stirring of excitement in spite of himself.

"Alas, no, it would not be that simple," Loki replied with a shake of his head. "Asgard and Muspelheim, it would seem, are completely unconnected. Or if they are not, it would take me a great deal of time to discover any path between the two realms . . . and I believe you have done enough waiting already. There is, however, another Realm connected to Muspelheim . . . one as close to Asgard as you could wish for."

There was a moment of silence.

"Nornheim," Surtur hissed. Loki nodded.

"And from Nornheim, there are no less than a dozen other paths into the Golden Realm. Finding the proper one would take no more than a few short hours."

"And do you expect Nornheim to allow my soldiers to pass through without raising the alarm?" Surtur barked angrily.

Loki's smile only grew.

"With the proper message."

* * *

_Riven shall be the Golden Realm,  
Red shall flow her lifeblood.  
The fires of Muspelheim bring her doom,  
And only ashes shall remain._

It had been ages since Skuld, the Speaker-of-Things-to-Come, had first uttered the lines that reminded the Realms that even the greatest of them could fall. Ever since that day Asgard had not ceased in its continued dominion on the Realms, nor let the prophecy halt its vaunted sense of superiority. Karnilla knew that such thoughts could be considered treasonous. But, sitting on her throne carved by the hands of emaciated artisans and looking out over her empty cave-like throne room, she couldn't bring herself to care.

Not when her people were among those who had, time and again, been overlooked by the blood-soaked warrior-kings of the Nine Realms' Jewel. Not when Nornheim's treasures were of cloth and grain and subtle magic, things valued less than a Jotun's hide by most Realms.

No, all the prophecy meant to the Queen of Nornheim was that one of her greatest sore spots was not ensured an eternity of rule. Asgard refused to see the state of the Realms, refused to change as others changed. In her opinion, their fate was justice done by the very rules of existence.

Loud footsteps shook her from her contemplations.

"My Queen?"

One of her guards, the brave Stathis, stood before her throne, his head bowed reverently.

"Yes?"

"You have a request for an audience."

"Who is it?" Stathis raised his head and Karnilla could see his disquiet.

"They refused to speak their name, saying only that the message they carry is of great importance . . ."

"I see. Did they make mention of who their master is?"

He hesitated, but only a moment.

"They claim to be an emissary of Surtur, Lord of Muspelheim."

Karnilla desired only to spring to her feet and seal off her throne room from all enemies. She forced the thought to bow to her iron will.

What were the chances that such an emissary would be here, as if in answer to her bitterness toward Asgard and her musings on its fated end?

"I will meet with them."

Her guard bowed before leaving to inform her guest of her decision.

Slowly, Karnilla rose from her throne and made her way to stand before one of the only ornamentations she had allowed in her throne room.

Along one wall ran a carved mural of the Realms, Yggdrasil's branches supporting each of the intricately detailed worlds in its firm embrace. Tendrils hung from the branches, like moss from a tree, here signifying those secret paths known to but a few.

All too soon, disquiet fell over her. At first, only the vague feeling of discomfort, then growing until it gnawed at the edges of her senses: A forbidding, powerful presence that forced her to withdraw from her perusal of the mural and face the doorway.

Before he even stepped foot into her presence, she knew who it was.

"And so Asgard's monster finally aligns itself with more fitting company."

She had taken his advantage in speaking first, but he still approached with that mocking grin he had ever graced her with.

"I would say 'how wonderful to see you again, Karnilla,' but I fear such a lie would be far too obvious."

"What do you want, Trickster?"

"No word games today, oh Queen? No caustic poison to cut me deep?"

"I have no desire to banter with traitors, Loki. Even if I was so inclined, I doubt whether any poisoned speech of mine could draw even one drop of blood from your foul hide."

The traitor only laughed.

"If only all of the Realms had such bitterness hidden away."

"Speak your piece and then leave. I'll not harbor a snake longer than needs must."

"Then I will take no more of your time. I bring a message from Surtur: Surrender or be utterly destroyed."

For many long moments the two masters of arcane arts stared each other down. Karnilla was unwilling to bend before the implacable grin of her opponent.

"You carry no such message, Lie-Smith," she stated at last. "If there is a message then speak it in truth, if such a thing is not beyond you."

Loki chuckled, those emerald eyes of his glinting with amusement and a twisted pleasure.

"I could hardly resist, as you know well, Karnilla. But, truly now, Surtur gives you a choice. If you clear a path through your Realm for his armies then he will keep his demons from turning your fields to ashes and your people to empty corpses. However, should he face any opposition – from you or your people – then nothing will save Nornheim from Muspel's fire."

Again, only silence filled the room.

Karnilla tasted the bitter truth in his words. In the rare instances that the Nine Realm's Liar chose to deal in truths she had never known it to be anything less than horrible truths. Truths that had always forced her to choose between what she held dear and what was expected.

"You need send no reply." His quiet voice echoed off the stone. "But think long and carefully before you act. Let not Nornheim's long-held reputation for wisdom and foresight be put to shame."

Karnilla recoiled inwardly at words which held all the outward appearance of concern but none of the meaning. She let nothing but a narrowing of her eyes reveal her unrest.

"Leave my sight and my Realm, Trick-Tongue," she snapped, motioning with an outstretched arm to the doorway.

He did not bow to her as he left.

And the discomfort she felt when he had first appeared did not fade now with his departure.

* * *

Not far from where Nornheim's queen was left with a harrowing decision two figures took a step from a world of fire to a world of cool breezes.

The first to step through was tall but not unusually so, thin and dark. The second dwarfed the first, and glowed like a slumbering bed of coals.

"I take it the way shall be clear, Trickster?"

"I have relayed the message as you instructed," the smaller figure replied, glancing up. "It is now Karnilla's decision to choose honor or life. If I know her as well as I think . . . she will choose life. Asgard has not always dealt so kindly with her in the past."

"You had better hope your knowledge is true. I would rather not waste my armies on petty skirmishes."

The smaller figure bared its teeth in a wide smile.

"Nornheim has never been known for its strength of armies. Farmers with shovels will be but sport should any inhabitant stand in your way. Give her but a few hours to spread the word. She knows that to challenge you means only destruction."

"If she decides to challenge me and Asgard learns of this attack, how then will you bring me my proof of your loyalty?"

Sharp laughter rang out over the surrounding fields.

"Oh, Asgard's mind is simple to grasp and outwit. They have but a single way of thinking: sword against sword, might against might. They have no room in their strategies for the silent blade or the twisted path to secret places. Should Karnilla choose the fool's path and Asgard learn of the assault, the only modification is to have your boisterous company attack a bit louder and harder than they might have done. Your prize shall still be delivered."

"Very well. Return to Muspelheim and instruct Eldfell to prepare the two companies. I trust you can manage that?"

"And Eldfell will believe my words are from you? That I have not done away with your . . . eminence when I return alone?"

A sound like a log falling in a fire broke through the cool air.

"If he believes you have done such a thing then he would be a fool to challenge you. And Eldfell is no fool."

The dark shadow bowed slightly.

"It shall be done, master."

The smaller figure turned away and was suddenly gone without even a sound to mark their passing.

The remaining one stood silent, gathering and concealing all his fire and heat as he stood watch over an endless moons-lit field.


	13. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Asgard's resident Guardian and Realm-Watcher did not, as most believed, hate all but a few select people. He actually found genuine enjoyment in a fellow Asgardian's presence so long as they refrained from idle drivel or inane questions. And for those who could not hold a fool's tongue in check he had developed quite a thick skin for.

Today, was one of those days he yearned for ears that heard only important things: things like the state of the Realms, or possible plots to ruin his home…

Not the most recent gossip of scandal in the court (which he already knew anyway, curse his ability to see and hear anything).

With a deep sigh that did little to discourage the guard chattering away at the Observatory's entrance (how did such a boy manage to receive the honor to wait for a message meant for Odin Alfather himself?) Heimdal returned his attentions to Yggdrasil.

He followed the Tree's beckoning, letting it guide his sight where it willed for the moment. He had neither the orders nor the desire to seek out a certain person or event and so let his gaze fall where Fate willed it.

Alfheim first: A scorched city of ever-living trees. Discomfort. Fear but not panic. An ever-present watchfulness and words of concern toward Asgard. No threat to Asgard or her king.

Then Midgard: Far-flung peoples of many tongues. Only a spare few who knew of Asgard and Midgard's place in the Realms. From those few he heard little of Asgard. The first grandchild of the Alfather and Almother. They would be pleased to learn of his safety and contentment, if he read the boy's smile correctly. Of all the Realms, Midgard was one to be watched carefully… but posed no threat at the present moment.

His eyes found themselves drawn to a quieter Realm. Not one known for warriors or bravery. One whose main interest to Asgard was its surplus of food stores and occasional cryptic words from the women whose name it bore. Nornheim.

Heimdal almost let himself be pulled to a Realm with more interesting sights: Jotunheim perhaps, with its new leader, or Vanaheim, with its nearly ready harvest. But then there was a burst of bright color: bright and hot where Nornheim's night was cool and dark. Just for a moment, but it drew his gaze and kept it.

For a long moment he saw nothing more, and was preparing to shift his gaze to another Realm when the fire burst again. And again. Several more times another bright point burst into existence, and within the space of a few heartbeats, the Bifrost's guardian saw what he had long been expecting.

"Guard." It was with no small satisfaction that Heimdal noticed the guard jump at his voice. Immediately, the boy stood at attention, awaiting orders.

"I have news for the Alfather."

* * *

Within the Royal Court of Asgard, Odin watched as courtiers and guards and citizens alike mingled in mixed crowds of color and noise and idle talk.

For the first time in what seemed like years there were no anxious requests, no petty quarrels amongst man or woman, and the atmosphere of the Throne Room was one of quiet watchfulness rather than fear. In other times Odin would have reveled in it, allowed himself a moment or two of satisfaction to look upon his people and rejoice that none were afraid or sorrowful or bitter towards their fellows.

Try as he might, he could not. The ever-looming war that had not yet come hung heavily on his mind.

It had been two very long months, months full of sleepless nights and anxious days, months of planning and counter-planning for the coming siege, trying to delve deeper into his enemy's mind to guess his first move – or his second or even his twenty-second. The fact that Surtur had not, in fact, come for his precious treasure hidden deep within the Vaults of this city only worked to increase his growing impatience. Surely Loki would have done something by now. Surely he would have gone to Surtur by this time and proposed their mutual collaboration. Why then the delay?

The time of veiled peace had done nothing to strengthen his people, either. Odin let his eye wander over the crowd below the dais, hearing their idle talk and laughter and easy conversation, and wondered what had happened to the warrior race that had so long been taught the value of readiness, of patience. If this silence from Muspelheim went on much longer, Odin feared that when the true assault came, Asgard would be caught unawares.

And there was an added concern: Frigga had been . . . unusually quiet as of late. Her conversation was sparse and weary, her smiles forced, and her eyes anxious. Odin knew his wife had slept just as little as he had these past few weeks in particular. And the Alfather knew his queen well enough by now to know that when Frigga went silent like this it was because she had Seen. Caught a glimpse of something to come, something that was either a great terror or great sorrow. She could never reveal what she had seen – the Curse of the Second Eye – but Odin knew how to read the signs.

What new disaster loomed for the Golden Realm . . . or was it simply a premonition of this current trouble to come?

Suddenly the doors to the hall were thrown open, a resounding clang echoing throughout the room and bringing all idle conversation to a standstill. In rushed a guard, a messenger, and one that Odin knew well. It was Einarr, the courier of Heimdal. Even at this distance Odin could see the terror in the boy's eyes, and it caused an uncomfortable hush to spread over the assembled crowd.

"Alfather! I come with dire news!" Einarr shouted, rushing forward until he reached the bottom steps of the dais. He dropped to his right knee, not so much in deference as in weariness, his shaking legs unable to support him another step.

Odin rose to his feet, Gungnir held loosely in his hand, and nodded to the boy before him.

"Rise and speak your report."

Einarr tried to do as he was bidden, but his legs were still trembling too badly to tolerate rising back to his feet.

"My . . . my king . . . great Alfather. I bring most grievous news from our Gatekeeper. He commands me to bring the report of those foul beasts. He has seen the terrible sight. He has-"

"Make your report quickly, Einarr, if it be so important."

"I apologize, Your Majesty. I was ju- it was a great shock. I didn't think I-"

"_Einarr_."

The boy finally caught his breath – or his courage – and raised his eyes to the throne.

"Fire Demons. Amassing in Nornheim, sir."

Instantly the Alfather was on his feet, his sudden alarm echoed throughout the room by various gaps and frightened whispers.

"Are you certain?" he demanded.

"My lord, Heimdal himself saw it with his own eyes!" Einarr insisted. "He beheld numerous fiery shapes gathering in the fields of Nornheim."

"How many?"

"He did not say, Alfather. He only bade me bring you news as swiftly as I could."

Odin thought quickly. He had expected an attack from Surtur, but he had not expected him to use a realm such as Nornheim for that purpose. He did not need to question how the armies of Muspelheim had arrived there; after all, Surtur had a world-walker at his command . . .

"Send for my son Thor immediately!" Odin bellowed, Gungnir thundering down on the steps before him. Two of the guards rushed away through the open door, while the rest of the court gazed up at their king in frozen fear. "You, Einarr, may return to your post with Heimdal. Instruct him to bring me any news that bears on these events to me immediately."

The boy rose to his feet, bowed once, and fled from the Throne Room, seeming more terrified than he had before he entered.

While Odin waited for Thor to arrive, he took a moment to think. He had to admit he did not feel entirely concerned with this news; there was a tiny bit of relief with it. Finally – finally! – it was time to act. No more useless waiting. No more trying to guess Surtur's movements. War was finally upon them . . . and Asgard could finally respond.

As he took his seat again, he caught the eye of another courier standing meekly to his right.

"Send for Eir as well," he instructed. "She should be present when I speak with my son."

Not twenty minutes later both Thor and the Master Healer were standing before his throne. The face of his son held concern and alarm, but Odin could see the steel of battle hardening his eyes; Thor clearly knew what was about to happen. Eir's silver eyes also held a steel of their own, but hidden behind that was a flicker of fear. Never before had the Healers ever been summoned in this way, with so dire an enemy waiting to attack.

"My son," Odin began, directing his attention at the God of Thunder, "you have no doubt heard the news Einarr has brought to us." Thor nodded but made no reply. "How such a host has passed unnoticed by Karnilla is not known, but this one thing is certain: if Nornheim falls to Surtur's forces, he will have gained a foothold against us, a realm with which he would be in striking distance of this city. No matter the cost, no matter the numbers, he must fail."

"He shall, father," Thor growled quietly, a storm already raging in his voice. "Asgard shall send that foul beast into the abyss . . . where he belongs."

"Then depart as quickly as you may, and take as many soldiers with you as you think you shall need to repel this threat."

As his son departed, Odin's attention focused on the Master Healer.

"Eir, I fear we have little time to prepare. Gather your chosen Healers together and begin casting your protective wards about the palace, beginning with the Weapons Vault. It is there that Surtur will first try to gain access, I am certain. And it is essential that he should fail."

"He shall fail, Alfather," Eir assured him confidently. "There are no spells that could possibly match the Protective Wards my apprentices cast."

"We shall see," Odin replied. "Go, and set about your task swiftly."

When Eir departed, it seemed as if the rest of the court thought it best to disperse, to return to their own families and loved ones and to prepare for the coming conflict. If anything, this news brought from Heimdal forced the people of Asgard to see that the danger was not passed. It forced them to understand that – strong though they may be – there were still threats within the Realms that could equal the strength of the Realm eternal.

Odin only hoped that strength would be enough . . .

* * *

The passageway down through the forgotten corridors of the palace was dark, dimly lit by torches at intervals down the narrow stone walls. Signs and runes almost too dim to read were carved into the rock around them, their meanings lost in time and memory. The steps leading down into the darkness were hardly worn, hardly used, a path taken by few.

Never before had such a crowd assembled down this corridor as now.

Silently, like grey and silver shadows passing through a half-forgotten dream, twelve Healers, hooded and cloaked, swiftly made their way passed the torches and into the wide space waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

Before them loomed the huge bronze doors leading into the Weapons Vault. A place forbidden to ordinary citizens of Asgard, and one that most in that company had never even seen before. Intricate figures and ornate designs were engraved into the huge barrier, adding to their weight and splendor.

Huge, aged doors . . . that needed now to open to no one.

The leader of the group stepped forward and let their hood fall away from their face. Eir eyed the doors with a grim expression, knowing the monumental task now before her and her apprentices. She spread her hands out towards the doors and grew rigid.

Mixed with the iron determination in her heart - and the whisper of an ancient word to aid her casting - Eir laid the first layer to the web of protection around the Vault.

Sigyn followed less than a rapid heartbeat later - no words passed her lips, only a deep exhale - and set her own layer above Eir's. She hoped the faint tinge of anxiety she was keeping at bay hadn't hindered the spell's fortitude.

Behind them followed the other ten healers chosen to lay the protective spells. The same spell, layered a dozen times. Terror, love, resignation, desperation, and threaded through out the anxiety of ever-nearing danger. All left their mark.

There was a moment of stillness as each Healer looked on their work, some with pride, some with trepidation, some with a firm resolve that their defenses would hold. None ever before had forced an entrance through such a barricade –

A distant thundering crash echoed down through the corridors.

A low, steady roaring like the rush of a tidal wave, voices shouting . . . and then another far-off boom.

Eir's eyes widened in surprise.

Sigyn's eyes narrowed in fearful certainty.

It was not Nornheim that was under attack.

It was the Palace Gates of Asgard!

* * *

The army of Asgard, with the Crown Prince at their head, were nearly to the foothills of the northern border when the first shouts of dismay rang through the air.

Thor whirled around, turning in his horse's saddle so as to better view what had alarmed his men so. At first it was difficult to see; the midmorning sun was almost blindingly bright, glinting off of the polished roofs and pinnacles of the city far below them. But then Thor saw brighter flashes amongst the reflections, flashes that seemed more like the flames from a torch . . .

"_No . . _." Sif whispered beside him.

It couldn't be. It was impossible!

"How . . . how could they be _here?_" Fandral demanded. "The attack on Nornheim –"

"Was a trick!" Thor bellowed. Mjolnir was out in his hands with almost no conscious thought. The hammer's storm began to build.

"Thor, no!" Sif shouted, her hand clamping down on his arm. "Flying back alone will not avail Asgard in the least!"

"We cannot stand here while the Palace is under attack!" he roared back, trying to shake her off.

"We shall not!" Hogun replied firmly. "We shall all return – together – and drive the hosts of Muspelheim back into the pits they came from."

"_Return to the city!_" Thor shouted, turning Vollandur's head and digging his heals into the animal's sides. "_Men of Asgard, defend your home, lest Muspelhiem's fires raze it to the ground!_"

Not heeding ranks or strategy, the entire host turned and rushed back down the road towards the beleaguered Palace, their shouts and curses echoing down the valley.

Thor only hoped they would not be too late . . .

* * *

The Vanguard had no warning.

There had been a brief moment of peace, a moment in which the world had been still and calm. The very next instant the fabric of reality seemed torn asunder.

Through a tear in the universe the guards had seen a huge figure burst through, flaming and filled with rage and hatred. More and more followed, until a wall of fire had appeared before the very gates of the Palace. In the confusion, the guards patrolling the upper ramparts were flung from the walls, impaled by sword or blasted by fire. Mere moments later, and there were none left guarding the gates.

With a rush the Demons of Muspelheim rushed upon the doors, intent on smashing them to splinters – and destroying any who stood in their way.

* * *

Far below the fire and the chaos that surrounded the Palace gates, a lone figure emerged from the darkness. No sound was heard to mark his coming, and should any eyes have spied him lurking in the shadows, a simple twist of the threads of reality would have rendered him invisible once again.

A thin hand waved elegantly, and the nearby torches were extinguished, plunging the passageway into total darkness. A moment later a sickly green light illuminated the space just before his feet, and with only a quick glance back up the long corridor, the figure quickly slipped down the flight of steps until he stood before the doors of the Weapons Vault.

Sealed . . . just as he had expected.

Loki gently reached out a hand towards the bronze doors, the tingling in his fingertips confirming his theory. Magically sealed shut, no doubt by some of the Healers of Asgard. A simple probe later and he was able to distinguish not one but twelve separate wards protecting the Vault.

Any other spell-caster would have been dismayed at this finding, wondering how they could possibly break through such a barrier.

But Loki Odinson was not any other Spell-Caster. He was THE Spell-Caster. And for every ward there was a counter-ward, a chink in the armor of magic itself. All he needed to do now was find the weakness in each layer and open the doors.

And thanks to his diversion at the Palace Gates . . . he had plenty of time to do so.

* * *

Sigyn stood together with eleven other healers just inside the palace's entrance. Calmly they recited, again and again, the words for protection around the gate, around the palace, around Asgard herself.

Beyond the palace gate they could hear the roar of fire and screams getting closer.

This particular group had been chosen for their ability to remain calm under duress, to ignore fear and exhaustion and do what they must. Even so, deep beneath years, decades, centuries of training… the ever-nearing sounds of the demons of Muspelheim brought their hidden fear to light. No more than a widening of the eyes for some, a shiver of apprehension in another, but there all the same.

And still they remained.

Healers of Asgard.

Warriors in their own quiet refusal to give in to terror and despair.

The screams approached faster.

The roar of flame became heavy footsteps.

A heavy blow landed itself outside the door no more than a score of steps from where they stood, sending the guards into an even greater state of readiness.

Another blow.

The gates held under the repeated hammering, the intense heat of the fire, protected as they were by the healers' spells.

They continued to chant, speaking louder now, eyes closed from concentration as each blow was a chance for the shield to crack.

The smell of fire surrounded them, healers and guards alike. The air became gloomy and hot and dry.

Another blow.

Another.

Their throats and mouths begged for relief from the heat.

Sigyn held herself tall as she faced the gate, voice hoarse and broken, but she never stopped speaking the words alongside her fellow healers.

_Protection from evil._

_Protection from fire._

_Protection from fear and pain._

_A shield against power and might and dark strength._

Beside her a healer's voice gave out.

A few feet away another was overcome with coughing.

_Protection from evil._

_Protection from fire._

_Protection from f-_

A blow slid past the ward and landed on the gate.

One of the guards quickly grabbed the arms of the two healers who were unable to continue and rushed them away.

The remaining healers were all but screaming.

_A SHEILD AGAINST POWER AND MIGHT AND DARK STRENGTH!_

Another blow on the gate.

_PROTECTION FROM EVIL!_

The wards couldn't hold . . .

_PROTECTION FROM FI-_

The gates exploded inward with a final blow, a wave of intense heat and light flooded the room . . .

The palace was breached!

* * *

Thor's army swept through the city unhindered.

The God of Thunder resisted the urge to fly to the Palace gates, to leave his host behind in his desperation to reach his home before it was too late. But he knew speed alone would not save those trapped inside. Only the hammer in his hand and the soldiers at his back could hope to drive the Fire Demons from Asgard.

How could he have been so _foolish?_ How could the Crown Prince been so easily deceived by so obvious a ruse?

He should have known. The Alfather should have known! Surtur would not dare commit a frontal assault on ANY realm without the Eternal Flame in his possession! Only by reuniting Twilight with the Flame could Surtur hope for victory.

The Weapons Vault would have been his first goal. Thor should have stayed to guard it.

_How could he have been so FOOLISH!?_

* * *

The first seven layers were easy.

Loki couldn't help but smirk in amusement at the feeble defenses laid across the doors. If this was what Eir boasted as her best wards, then she was more arrogant than he originally supposed. His hands twirled in another complicated gesture, and yet another binding spell was wiped away from the bronze gates.

The ninth layer fell away, the weakness in this casting being the Healer's undeniable doubt – doubt in Asgard's strength, in her ability to survive. Doubt was an easy chink to find.

The tenth layer was more difficult, and it took Loki several moments to discover its weakness: pride. Pride could easily be shattered by painful truths – and the painful truth here was that this Healer's pride was heavily mislaid.

Loki approached the eleventh layer –

His hands snapped back of their own accord. His breath caught in his chest, and a cold feeling of familiarity sent a shiver down his spine.

This layer . . .

It was tinged with Sigyn's hands . . .

For the first time since he entered that place, Loki felt severe doubt of his own. The only way for him to break these spells was to _want_ to break them, to wish them shattered, destroyed, cast down with satisfaction.

But this was _Sigyn's_ doing . . .

His wife . . .

His dearest friend . . .

The one he would do anything to save.

And how could he save her if he returned to her enemy the one thing that could destroy the world his wife loved so dearly?

The answer was obvious, but reluctant in coming:

_Because there was no other way_.

Slowly, Loki brought his hands back up towards the doors, a deep breath to steady him, and a whispered prayer on his lips.

"Forgive me, Sigyn."

A willful thrust of his powers, and the anxiety-riddled spell was drawn aside.

Beneath it lay the final ward, the strongest yet. This one filled with nothing but grim determination.

Loki's eyes narrowed. He knew this caster's signature as well . . .

Eir.

The bitter old hag that had humiliated his dear wife in front of hundreds . . .

The old woman who always tried to stand between him and his beloved Sigyn . . .

The _witch_ that had dared to accuse him of forcing his dearest friend to marry him –

For the first time in months Loki allowed himself to feel rage. To feel hatred. He let it race through his body until it exploded out of his fingertips –

A blast of green fire licked the edges of bronze and gold as the huge doors were forced open.

* * *

Sigyn found herself hiding behind a piece of the shattered gate.

Well, her husband would have called it hiding. She had no trouble in calling it what it actually was.

Sigyn cowered in fear as the fire demons made their way through the empty hole that was once the enormous golden gate of her home.

All around her was an uproar of sound: angered shouts from the warriors as they did battle, screams of terror from those not yet ready to make the journey to Valhalla, cries of pain as everyone who had held the gate was cut down in the wake of the demons heat, the roar of flame itself the soundtrack to the horror…

And then it was all quiet. Only the faint crackle of dying fires.

She didn't move. _Couldn't_ move.

Pain from when she was thrown to the side in the initial blast kept her from moving overmuch.

Fear of what she would see if she looked kept her from wanting to move.

But the desire to get to safety pushed her to raise her head, to inch as silently as she could from behind the twisted bit of metal.

The room was hazy, smelled of sulfur and charred flesh. White flakes drifted through the dark air.

Nothing moved.

No guards, no healers.

No fire demons.

She pulled herself out completely but didn't trust her legs to hold her just yet. Keeping to the dark edges of the room, Sigyn crawled toward a way that led into the palace.

She was nearly there when heavy footsteps rang out behind her, and then stopped.

She froze.

_Please don't see me. Please look past-_

"And what is this, now?" a voice soft as ash, harsh as smoke.

She squeezed her eyes closed.

"I do believe it is a _worm_ . . . crawling away from danger. Am I right little worm?"

She stayed still, tried to force herself not to shake.

"Are you afraid?"

_Yes. Yes, I am. Please . . . leave me al-_

"Don't be afraid . . ." the voice mocked. A tiny wave of heat flowed over her back as the demon came to crouch down beside her. Sigyn clenched her teeth together, ground her forehead into the earth, trying desperately to keep from screaming . . .

_Agony. She can't move or speak or breathe. Always HIS voice whispers, always she must watch as HE-_

_Stop!_

Fire crawled at her back: A clawed hand moving slowly, grabbing at her hair, her neck. She refused the breath that insisted on sobbing.

The hand dug into her neck, tangled in her hair, and pulled her up. A gasp escaped before she was forced to look into the face of a true monster.

It wasn't whom she feared she would see. It wasn't HIM.

But that didn't mean this one wasn't just as frightening.

"If the little worm wishes . . ." Its eyes were gold, burning instead of the gleam of life-giving Apples. It's skin like the jagged embers where all flames were born. Its breath washed over her face as the heat from a blacksmith's furnace. "It will all be over swiftly . . ."

It pulled her closer and she reached up with a pained sob to grasp the hand holding her.

"Will you beg?" A grin cracked the fiery skin. "Will you give me sweet words of anguish before-"

"No . . ." A whisper, barely a breath, from dry mouth and throat.

_He allows her the barest glimpses. He allows her to see again and again his pale face, the vibrant brand of a murderer fresh upon her claws as he fall-_

"I . . . I will never. Beg. A- a monster like. You." Any tears that fell dried instantly in the heat of demon-fire.

A noise unlike anything she had ever heard before emanated from the demon. It almost reminded her of the crackle of a bonfire, and then the soft roar as a fire settles. It was laughing, she realized…

"The little worm…" It leaned so close she swore her skin blistered from his breath as she shut her eyes tight. "Wishes to play."

A harsh tug at her hair and Sigyn felt herself sliding across the floor. A moment later her back hit another of the stone blocks littering the room and she forced down a cry of surprise and pain. Barely a moment after that the demon had grabbed her throat and lifted again.

"Squeal Asgardian worm. Scream for aid."

Then, the heat at her throat was gone and the smoke filled air was rushing past.

Sigyn bit back another scream – of pain and fear – as her side collided with fragments of the splintered gates.

Again and again the Demon seized her, whether by her hair or by her throat, flinging her across the room not hard enough to kill her but just to inflict bruising pain. And with each assault came the taunting promise of relief if only she would scream for help.

But through her pain and her tears and her fear, Sigyn the Healer refused to bow before the Fire.

How long this went on she had no memory; it was all a blur of heat and terror and blood. But finally, after throwing her to the burning stones once more, it seemed as if her tormenter had tired of his game.

"Very well, worm," he hissed. "if I cannot _break_ you," here he stepped back a pace, letting her catch her breath, "then I will _burn_ you."

* * *

The ruined gates were in sight.

The edges of the huge golden doors were still smoldering, which could only mean that they had been breached only moments before. There was still time –

A roar of flames roared down on the army's heads.

No less than twenty Fire Demons stepped in front of Thor's path, their battle cries and laughter and jeers burning as hot as their lust for battle.

Thor's anger hardened into rage harder than Mjolnir's bite. Teeth bared, eyes flashing, the God of Thunder brought the storm down upon the hell hounds of Muspelhiem.

"FOR ASGARD!"

* * *

A twist of the threads of reality, and the Flame was safely housed within his inter-dimensional pocket.

Loki smiled to himself. There were some in this realm who counted themselves clever. But there were none more clever than the Trickster himself. Only he could have devised so twisted a scheme as he had planned for his so-called allies.

So far, everything was transpiring exactly as he had planned.

Now it was time for the second phase of his scheme to begin.

Loki walked past the other relics in the Vault, marveling at the irony of it all. Here he was, the "traitor" to the Realm Eternal – standing in the presence of the deadliest weapons the universe had to offer. All he had to do was stretch his hand out to any one of them and he could claim them as his own –

No. That was not why he came here. He came here only to secure that which he needed to secure Surtur's trust in his loyalty.

Then he passed by a very familiar relic . . .

His eyes lingered on the Casket of Ancient Winters, its cold ice and frost swirling like mist within the confines of its prison.

An idea suddenly came to Loki's mind.

If he could not only return the Flame to its owner but also secure the _one weapon_ that could be Fire's undoing . . . would that not solidify his allegiance in Surtur's eyes? Would not the ruler of Muspelheim trust his word implicitly after that?

With a soft whirring noise the weapon of Jotunheim vanished into the void as well.

* * *

Sigyn's tormentor reached down where she half-lay against a stone block from the gate. She flinched as it reached past her face. A tiny stab of pain, hardly worth feeling compared to everything else, and its claws came away grasping something that glinted in its fire. She barely recognized it as an earring, _her_ earing. Then, it rose, walked some distance away before halting once more.

She felt a subtle shift in the energies of the world as the demon drew power to itself. Frantically she reached, searching for some spark in her well of strength that hadn't been drained. She kept reaching, searching. A ball of fire slowly formed in the demons hand . . .

_Reaching –_

Growing . . .

_Searching – _

Glowing . . .

_There!_

It drew its arm back….

_She pulled the sparks to her – _

It threw!

_ – They weren't enough._

Instinctively Sigyn flung her arms in front of her face. For the briefest moment there was burning agony –

_She begged for it to be swift, she pleaded to live, she wished to see her son again, to hold her husband one last time, she cried with every utterance in every tongue she had learned that he would not be destroyed by her passing –_

And then there was nothing.


	14. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

The smell of ash and sulfur and seared flesh greeted Loki as he came up the steps from the Weapons Vault.

He let his eyes roam aimlessly around the open chamber, ignoring the sting from the smoke still hanging in the air. The Palace Gates were hardly recognizable now: ruined fragments of stone and bronze and gold. The edges of the walls where the massive hinges had been attached were now only bits of jagged marble and granite, their blackened sides giving way to blue sky hazy with smoke beyond. Masonry and rubble littered the floor, the smoldering ashes of kindled fires flickering quietly in the aftermath of this assault. Huge pillars were cast down and ground into dust as if they had been mere straw.

A part of Loki wished his Fire Demons had not done so thorough a job. He had instructed them to merely force the gates . . . not devastate them.

He stood still for a moment, listening, his senses stretching out in a habit born of many battles fought and many wars won. But aside from the empty crackle of fires and the distant noise of battle beyond the gateway there was not a sound to be heard. The entire Palace seemed . . . almost deserted. As if every living soul had fled before the Fire breaking down the door to their home.

Loki's eyes were drawn then down to the scattered debris before his feet . . . and saw that not all had fled in terror.

Amidst the broken rubble and masonry and fires were blackened masses that could not be mistaken for pieces of ruined walls. On some he saw bits of cloth, frayed and torn by either flames or the sword. On others he thought he saw eyes – open and wide and staring – locked on something he couldn't see. Swords and spears and shields were scattered amidst the slain, some clutched in a death grip of determined soldiers, some lying mere inches from blackened fingers as if their owners had perished with their weapons just out of reach.

But there were some bodies that bore no armor, that carried no weapon.

And these were not soldiers . . . not men of Asgard . . .

Women.

Ten Healers were scattered about the room, as if they had been flung aside when the doors were breached.

A not-so-subtle twinge of guilt and sorrow twisted Loki's stomach. He had never meant for the Healers to be caught in the battle. He had hoped they would merely cast their wards and return to the safety of the Healer's House. He recognized many of the charred corpses as those who had been friends of his wife, protégés just like herself that she had grown to care for over centuries of training together.

He hadn't meant . . .

Resolutely Loki pushed all such sorrow and doubt aside. They were warriors of Asgard in their own right, and they had died defending their home . . . just as he was trying to save his home. Sigyn would understand.

For a brief moment the thought passed through Loki's mind that he should search the slain, see if there be any still living – Asgardian or Fire Demon. But then his urgent quest came to the forefront of his mind. He had no time to sift through the ruin to see which bodies were not entirely lifeless. If he hoped to prevent further destruction then he must return to Muspelheim at once.

He would leave the mourning to those who had reason to mourn.

Before he took one step forward he heard heavy footsteps in the corridor to his left. His hand automatically gripped the hilt of a throwing knife before he realized what – or who – it was. Eldfell, Surtur's lieutenant, stepped through the alcove and into the open entryway.

"Been having ourselves a bit of fun, have we?" Loki called. The Fire Demon grinned wickedly.

"It has been far too long since we have been given leave to play," he replied.

"I ordered you to force the gates, not shatter them," Loki snapped, making his way through the ruined hall. "There was no need to use such force."

"You ordered us to provide you with a distraction, Trickster," Eldfell hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits, "and by Hel, we gave you one. These pathetic guardians were putting up more of a fight than we had at first thought. The only way for us to gain entry was to rip the gates apart."

Loki glanced around.

"Where are the rest of your men?"

A soft hiss like a whispered wildfire escaped from the Demon's maw.

"Dead. They were enjoying their sport a bit too much and were cut down by the Asgardian scum."

"And the sentries outside?"

"Perhaps they might still be alive. They were not as fool-hardy as the rest of the company you chose –"

"Then recall them," Loki answered, dismissing the other's accusation. "I have what I came for and it is time we were on our way."

"You promised us free reign of this realm, Trickster," Eldfell growled, stepping across Loki's path.

"And you will have it, my friend. But not now. Not yet."

"When?"

Loki's eyes narrowed at the other's demand.

"When I say so," he returned coldly.

Without another word he pushed passed Eldfell and strode away from the destruction that lay behind him.

He couldn't think about the past. He could only think about the future.

It was time to return to Muspelhiem.

* * *

The last of the Fire Demons were retreating.

Out of the twenty or so soldiers that Thor's army had encountered at the Palace gates only four or five remained. They had steadily been driven back away from the gates and into the streets of the city. Thor knew this was placing the citizens of Asgard at great risk, but there was no time for any other plan to be formed. If Surtur was to be defeated it was imperative that his forces be kept away from the Weapons Vault as much as possible.

But now, Thor saw to his bewildered astonishment, that the remaining Fire Demons were falling back. Not into the city and to the safety of the foothills . . . but back to the Palace.

With a roar Thor tore after them, the remaining soldiers in his company following on his heels. Arrows and spears sailed by overhead, but none seemed to hinder their enemy in the slightest.

_Where are they running to?_ Thor wondered to himself. _Surely not back inside the Palace; the guards have not been completely swept away, nor will they be idle in repelling a fresh invasion_.

Within moments the Palace gates were once again in sight – or rather what was left of them.

Thor stood for a moment in shock as his eyes took in the huge hole in the walls where the gates had once stood. Smoke and ash billowed out from the breach as if the entire Palace was on fire from the inside.

And hovering just fifty feet or so away was a shimmering, gaping maw that opened onto absolute blackness.

It was there that the Demons were retreating to, not the Palace. They were gathering at that . . . tear in reality, as if awaiting orders –

Out from the Palace then came one of the largest Fire Demons Thor had ever seen save Surtur himself. Even the bright light of the midday sun seemed dim compared to the flames streaming from him, casting a smoldering haze over his surroundings. He caught sight of Thor and the Asgardian army and signaled to his soldiers. One by one, as if they were being erased from reality itself, the Fire Demons stepped into the void and vanished from sight.

And following in the shadow of those giants was one that Thor knew very well . . .

Black hair. Pale complexion.

Emerald eyes . . .

"LOKI!" he cried out. He couldn't help himself. What was his brother _doing_ with these monsters? Surely he wasn't –

The Trickster's head turned, and for a moment his eyes locked with Thor's.

The universe froze, for a fraction of time, as the two brothers regarded each other.

Then a moment later Loki turned away, stepped through the portal – and vanished.

"The coward!" Sif screamed. "No doubt this was his plan; to draw us off and strike from the shadows! Had we been but a few moments sooner I could have exacted payment from his traitorous hide!"

Thor felt his stomach drop to his feet.

Of course Loki was behind this assault. Only Loki knew the secret paths between realms. Only Loki dealt with subtly and deceit. Only Loki had the knowledge of the workings of the Palace and the minds of all of Asgard to know how to distract –

_Distract . . ._

Without bothering to explain to his friends what was wrong Thor rushed away from them, into the ruined archway and through the devastation that lay within. Mjolnir was useless within the Palace corridors, and therefore Thor could only rely on his tired legs to carry him down into the Vaults. His eyes hardly saw the dead lying scattered around his feet. His mind only barely understood the implications of this lost battle. He was entirely focused on only one thing:

_Get to the Weapons Vault!_

Thor took the steps down into the long corridor two or three at a time, nearly stumbling at times in his panic.

_Loki would not – could not! – have done this thing!_

He ignored the smoldering torches lining the narrow passageway, trusting on instinct alone to guide him.

_Loki would never . . . would never betray Asgard in this way . . ._

He reached the base of the stairs, passed into the wide alcove –

The doors were open.

With numb mind and trembling limbs Thor carefully passed through the huge bronze doors as they stood like silent watchers to the Crown Prince's terror. There was no sign of destruction. No sign of a battle. In fact everything seemed almost exactly as it had just this morning. However Loki – for Thor could think of no other clever enough or foolish enough to dare to come here – had gained entrance, he had done so without raising the alarm.

Or else the guards had all been drawn off by the commotion at the gates.

His footsteps echoed hollowly across the surrounding stone. He reached the farthest alcove from the door –

_No._

_No. No no no!_

The Flame was gone.

Thor suddenly found he couldn't breathe. He dropped to his knee in stunned disbelief, struggling to catch his breath.

Loki – _his brother!_ – had stolen the Flame for Asgard's deadliest enemy.

The Alfather needed to know about this . . . at once.

* * *

The Warriors Three and Sif had starred after Thor as he tore through what was left of the palace gates. Though none would voice their thoughts aloud, it was clear that all four of them knew something terrible had happened. Why else would their Crown Prince be so concerned?

But then their own worries came to the forefront of their minds, as the sounds of the aftermath of battle rose to fill the silence left behind by the Fire Demons. Countless wounded lay scattered about them, their cries for aid mingling with the cries of mourning for those that now lay dead before the gates. There were far too few enemies felled in this fight; only two or three Fire Demons were visible.

With a roar of rage and frustration, Sif swung her sword down as hard as she could and began raining blows down on a dead Fire Demon, teeth clenched and eyes blazing with wrath. Finally she brought her blade down across the monster's neck, severing his head from his shoulders. Blood like molten fire gushed out over the ground, pooling on the stone and hardening almost instantly.

"That traitorous coward!" she screamed, whirling back to her companions who had been watching the scene unfold with apprehension. "Did I not warn you?! Did I not say he was a coward and a liar and a usurper?! Do you still hold to your belief, Volstagg? Your belief that Loki will always protect his family?! If he was as noble as you deem him to be, then why this?! LOOK AT WHAT HE HAS DONE!"

Volstagg shifted uncomfortably, for once choosing not to respond, and he glanced around at the carnage all around them with a saddened, almost disappointed expression. That look nearly made Sif sick. How could the fool not see this was Loki's true nature? She had tried to warn them, warn all of them! And this was the result!

She should have killed Loki when she had the chance . . .

"There will be a time to lay blame, Sif," Hogun cut in sharply. "But it is not now. The wounded must be taken to the Healer's House at once. Asgard will never triumph if her warriors are left to bleed to death before her gates."

He was supporting Fandral as he said this, one arm around his waist and another gripping Fandral's arm as it draped over his shoulder. The armor on Fandral's other arm was cracked and ruined, the flesh beneath an angry red. His expression was that of thinly veiled agony, his warrior pride demanding he put on a brave face in spite of the pain.

Sif's anger temporarily softened at her friend's condition. Hogun was right, as always, of course. There would be a time for vengeance later.

Now was a time for healing . . . and a time to mourn those who would never fight again.

* * *

A lone figure made his way slowly through the destruction.

His uniform, though streaked with ash and dirt and blood, disheveled and ripped in places, still proclaimed him to be one of the Crimson Hawks, the elite of Asgard's guards. His eyes roved despondently over the rubble, searching desperately for any survivors among the slain.

For nearly an hour he had been out, his commander having sent all able-bodied men to search for any among the desolation still clinging to life.

He had yet to find a single spark of life, and was disconcerted by the destruction such a small number of insurgents could wreak in such a short amount of time.

After numerous hopeful moments dashed, and even more waves of sorrow and disgust and determination, he saw before him the palace gates.

They had been forced open despite the Shielding magic, one of them so warped and twisted upon itself it was beyond repair. The other had been torn free: the hinges, post and part of the surrounding wall still connected and lying a hundred feet or more away from where the gate once stood.

About halfway between the shattered door and the hole it once covered lay crumbling a long bit of stone imbedded with metal for part of the gate. And behind it lay something he had to turn away from at first.

After a deep breath he turned back.

Long skirts, blackened from flame and papery. He didn't care to speculate on what lay underneath. An arm, burned to black with red beneath, lay over the stomach - which, amazingly, did not appear as badly burned as the arm. The other arm was raised, covering the woman's face, and just as burned as the first.

And peeking out from under the arm he saw a long twisted bit of metal covering a bright purple gem of some kind. He thought it looked familiar . . .

Numerous moments over the past few months of the Alfather's daughter visiting to argue with him. Healers robes flying as she stormed out, a flash of purple within gold at her ears . . .

The burned body of Asgard's healer princess lay before him.

He removed his cape and covered her. Gently he wrapped it around her.

She deserved far more than his tattered cape, he thought, for her sacrifice. But it was all he had.

Carefully, he cradled her body close and rose.

The Alfather needed to see this immediately.

* * *

In the aftermath of the assault, the truth of the entire matter came to light.

In his eagerness to bring word to the Alfather, Einarr misinterpreted Heimdal's message to Odin. The poor, frightened boy could not be blamed for his mistake, as it was one that any his age could have made. But Einarr still blamed himself for the ensuing loss and devastation – despite repeated attempts by all around him to persuade him otherwise. Odin had sent his Ravens to Nornheim as soon as the army had set forth, determined to learn of the Fire Demons' movements; the Alfather had not said whether or not they had seen anything in the southern fields of that realm, but it soon became abundantly clear that no Demons were lingering in Karnilla's domain.

But whatever Surtur's purpose was in using Nornheim, he had clearly achieved his goal. When news spread that the Eternal Flame was gone from the Vault, in spite of the shielding magic placed by some of the most powerful healers in Asgard, fear and panic raced through the hearts of Odin's people. And when it became clear that Loki had a significant hand in the planning of this assault, the hatred all felt towards the Lie-smith increased ten-fold.

And the devastation left in Loki's wake went far beyond damaged doors and shattered stone. No less than three hundred Asgardians – soldiers and civilians alike – were found dead or wounded in and around the Palace.

But the greatest blow to all hearts, especially in the Royal Family, was that Sigyn – Healer and defender of Asgard – was found among the dead.

No amount of time or victories could ever amend for that.

That was why the court of the Alfather was summoned again. There were questions to be answered, wrongs to be set right, and all of the attending courtiers knew this. There was no laughter. No idle talk. No naïve veil of peace and safety.

Fear and grief and pain reigned in its place.

The doors to the huge chamber slowly swung open and Odin looked up from his lap. Silhouetted in the light beyond the Throne Room, a tall stately figure strode forward. Straight and proud. Cold and firm. Unheeding of the stares and whispers that arose as they made their way down the open isle towards the throne. Scarlet robes swirled around a regal gait.

Scarlet . . . like the blood of those Asgardians that had perished because of this woman's foolishness.

Queen Karnilla halted just before the first step up to the dais and knelt.

"You summoned me, Alfather. What is my lord's desire?"

"How dare you approach our throne with such guile and pride, Karnilla," Odin growled, refusing to hold back the anger in his heart. "How dare you offer deference and feigned respect when your hands are red with the blood of our people?"

"I fail to see your meaning, Alfather," the Norn queen returned evenly. Her voice was just as cold as ever. Just as cold and uncaring and selfish as –

"Have you not heard of the attack on our realm? Have you not seen the devastation Surtur's devils have inflicted upon Asgard?"

Karnilla did not reply, but there was no need for her too. Odin knew she had seen the splintered gates, the pyres where the bodies of fallen friend and defeated foe alike burned before the Palace grounds.

After a moment, Odin broke the brittle silence.

"You have much to answer for, Karnilla," he whispered spitefully.

"Do I indeed, Alfather?" she returned easily. "Am I to be held responsible now for all of Surtur's assailments? Am I to be blamed for his plots and schemes against your sovereign realm?"

"Do not mock me, Karnilla!" Odin shouted, Gungnir's warning tone echoing across the golden floor. "How comes it that Fire Demons appeared within the boarders of your realm and you said _nothing?_"

Again, the Norn Queen said nothing. Odin's patience was beginning to wear thin.

"I cannot imagine the presence of a score of Surtur's soldiers passed into your realm unnoticed. You have ever been vigilant in protecting your people, Karnilla, and that is to your credit. But to knowingly and willingly allow such an enemy to pass within your midst –"

"Take care with your words," Karnilla hissed, eyes narrowing at the ruler of the universe that towered above her. "Let it not be said that the Alfather accuses anyone of allying themselves with the Flames of Muspelheim."

"I see no evidence to the contrary!" Odin roared. "No move was made against you! No forced march on your lands, no slaughter of your people, no sign of any form of resistance! You did not protest Surtur's presence in your fields and mountains, and you did not hinder his retreat through Nornheim! Every shred of evidence suggests that this was the mark of a conspiracy, not that of a threat of destruction!"

"I did what I deemed to be right for those under my protection!"

"Do not insult me with your excuses and your lies," Odin warned. "However noble you believe your intentions to be, nothing can be regarded higher than the stability of Asgard . . . and through her Yggdrasil itself."

"A serf I may be under you, Alfather, but I am not to be held a slave to your own designs and ambitions."

"You owe Asgard fealty, Karnilla!" Odin bellowed.

"We have given you what we owe, and more!" she shouted back, fists clenched at her sides. "Would you, Odin Alfather, not do everything in your power to protect those under your leadership? If you were given a choice between death and life would you willingly give your people up for slaughter?"

"No king who wished for the goodwill and protection of his people would stoop so low as to commit treason!"

"Treason?!" she screeched. "Is it treason to choose your own realm over one that has never done aught for you? Is it treason to give your own people a chance in exchange for people who have never lifted a finger in your defense?"

"You are quick to forget deeds of the past," Odin replied harshly. "Asgard has risen to your defense time and again, saved your people from disaster and you yourself from death on more than one occasion."

"That is the past, Alfather," the scarlet woman bit back. "You did not summon me here to speak of long-forgotten promises but to speak of present misdeeds and scorn."

"No, indeed. You were summoned here to give an account of your betrayal!"

"If it were not for your silence," Thor broke in, in a voice half-strangled with hate and grief, "many a brave Asgardian soul would still be with us this day. Hundreds of wounded and dying would be alive to this day . . . and _my sister_ would be standing in this assembly!"

Odin stopped his son with a raised hand.

"Your treachery has cost Asgard greatly . . . has cost _me_ greatly . . ."

Here the first whisper of regret passed over Karnilla's eyes. But briefly.

"The Realms will suffer for such a loss, certainly, but can you value a single life as more valuable than an entire Realm, poor as it may be to you?"

"When that life is tied to Asgard's salvation, then yes."

"What do you mean by that, Alfather?"

"Only that there are many things even the Queen of Nornheim has no knowledge of."

What happened to Sigyn... could yet bring about Asgard's ruin. Odin knew that Loki had never agreed to the ruse for his love of Asgard or his duty. His only goal in all this was to protect those few who mattered to him.

If Loki had Sigyn and his son to return to then Odin had no fear of his wayward son straying from the set plan.

If he should find them . . .

"Your betrayal will not be forgotten, Karnilla," Odin growled. "Go. We give you leave to depart our court and our realm. But know that as you return to your realm you leave behind you any hope for protection under our rule. As of this day, Nornheim will be regarded as a tool under the heel of Surtur himself, and any actions taken by you or your people will be seen as suspicious. And if _ever_ I discover that your armies are amassing beyond our northern boarders, you will be treated as an equal enemy with Muspelheim."

There was a deadly moment of silence. Karnilla seemed to become a frozen statue of rage and disgust. Then the next moment a scarlet cloud was billowing passed the fearful, accusing eyes of the Asgardian court.

The huge doors slamming shut behind her seemed to cut to Odin's soul.

Another ally lost.

He dreaded to think what else could go wrong now . . .

* * *

Deep in the heart of Muspelheim, word had spread among the soldiers that gathered before the gates of Surtur's fortress. The few demons that had returned from the assault were quick to spread tidings of their great victory over the Aesir, and how the Flame of their master was finally returned to him, and the reforging of Twilight had begun.

Leaning against one of the cavern walls amidst the boisterous celebrations, Loki could not help but smirk as he heard the loud-mouthed creatures boasting in their glorious deeds. It never ceased to amaze him how a simple tale could so quickly spiral out into something so outlandish one had to be either stupid or drunk to believe it.

These soldiers were both.

He preferred not to participate in their revelry. He needed the distance to think and to plan his next move . . . and it also created a way for him to better appreciate the idiocy of Surtur's pets.

But Eldfell's loud, raucous story drew Loki's attention in spite of himself. The lieutenant of Surtur's army was spinning a wild tale of the first assault on the gates of the Palace, how weak the Asgardian defenses had been, how easily they had broken through.

Loki pushed away from the wall and made his way a bit closer so he could hear better.

Then he saw.

A glint of gold reflected in the torch light at his right ear.

A flash of vibrant purple . . .

_He pushed down the instinctive urge to rush forward. _

"Is that a _lady's_ earing?" he chided instead.

_Don't think. Don't let them see…_

Eldfell turned from his companions to regard the tiny Trickster behind him.

"And you would know eh, Trick-tongue?" he jeered. "Aye. Snatched it off one of those scurrying trollops when we first broke into the palace."

Loki's eyes narrowed, caught a glimpse of a tiny serpent winding itself around the jewel . . .

"So," he said conversationally, "what did you do with this 'scurrying trollop'?"

The demon let loose a sound like the roar of a wildfire – laughter.

"You'd appreciate this, Trick-master: I let her beg for mercy. I heard her sobs – how she had a child, a husband, family. So I gave her mercy . . . burn something fast enough and they never feel it!"

He gave the Trickster a hearty pounding on the back that made Loki grit his teeth from the wave of heat and strolled away laughing.

Loki watched him leave, a frozen pit growing in his chest.

His mind flashed back to the devastation he had seen before the gates of the Palace. The bodies that had lain scattered over the burning stones. Soldiers and Healers mingling together.

Twelve Healers.

The same as those that placed their wards about the doors of the Vault.

_Sigyn . . ._

_She was . . ._

_No._

_No no no no NO!_

He had done all this for _her!_ So she would be _safe!_

Loki slowly walked away from the revelry, forced his steps to be slow and measured, forced his legs not to rush away as quickly as his heart wanted him to.

He waited until he had locked himself deep within a corner of the caves. Waited until none would hear or feel or see past the layers of shields he placed…

And screamed his anguish to the unfeeling, echoing stone.

* * *

It was a rare day that Pepper was allowed a few quiet moments to herself. Between her two boys - a son and a husband - it had been rare even before they gained a temporary addition. Not that Vali himself required much handling... but he did often inspire her own son to-

"Mom? What's wrong with Vali?" Howard asked suddenly.

Pepper looked over to see the young Asgardian kneeling on the carpet, as if he had tripped. But the paper-white color of his face –

"Vali, what's wrong?" She was instantly kneeling next to him, wondering if she should call for help. The boy looked so pale and sick . . .

"It hurts," he murmured, curling up into himself, a look of uncharacteristic pain on his face.

"What hurts, Vali?" she asked gently.

Not that she could help much. No one knew enough about Asgardian physiology to be able to do anything if something was wrong with him –

"Here," came the small answer. Vali's finger was touching . . .

His _heart?_

"Right here," he confirmed miserably. "It hurts . . . just like Father hurts . . ."

Bewildered, Pepper looked up at Tony, saw the same baffled expression.

"Vali, I'm sure your father's fine," she assured him.

The tiny black-haired head shook slowly.

"No. Father's hurting . . . why can't someone make it stop?"


	15. Chapter 14

_Author's Note__: Hi there! Both Chimaera Chameleon and I apologize profusely for the delay in putting this chapter up, but my cohort has gone through a lot lately. Their father passed away last week, and they've been super busy with family and the memorial arrangements. We both appreciate your patience and understanding in this. Hopefully from now on we can post these a lot faster. We have written up to chapter 18, and we have plans for the rest of the story. So...updates should come more frequently! PLEASE LEAVE REVIEWS FOR US! :D_

* * *

CHAPTER 14

The suns set on the last day of Asgard as it had been for millennia.

When morning had dawned that day, bright and clear and hopeful as it had always done for time beyond memory, Asgard had remained the beacon of hope for the Nine Realms, an example of peace and splendor and power unrivaled for thousands of years.

Still she shone, still did her radiance stand as an example to the Realms, still did the setting light of evening set alight her spires... but for this night a previously unheard of thought dared to enter the minds of her citizens:

_She is not impregnable._

And riding upon that thought was the bitterness of grief.

Grief for the loss of innocence of thousands of people, who before now had believed themselves safe and untouchable. Grief from the bitter pain such a base assault had left upon the Golden Realm. Grief for the hundreds of children who were told their mother or their father would never come home to them again.

No one was safe from the sorrow that had settled over Asgard. Not even the warriors of the realm who had never before given one thought to the security of their home.

* * *

"Fandral! Cease your incessant need for attention! It is doing nothing to help."

Fandral jumped away from the healer who had been listening attentively to his tale of danger and bravery, starring himself of course. But Sif's loud, angry voice did nothing to dampen his smile.

"Well I would say _some _attention is warranted in this instance, is it not my dear Dagmar?" Despite his previous guilty reaction, Fandral refused to look in Sif's direction, only raising his shoulder where the healer had been busy with.

"Well, then perhaps Dagmar should be paying more attention to the _injury_ than your _face_," Sif spat.

This time the healer flinched guiltily and went back to working on his shoulder.

"She didn't mean that, my dear," Fandral said in a quiet, dismissive voice. He still refused to turn and acknowledge the warrior glaring heatedly at him. Dagmar only let a brief, wan smile through before turning away to take up another handful of healing balm.

In the few moments where the healer had her back turned Sif stepped forward, reared back, and let fly her fist.

Fandral's agonized cry brought Dagmar rushing back.

"WHY would you _do_ that?!" he complained loudly as his healer quickly spread more of the balm over the newly injured burn and finally faced his attacker. Sif smirked cruelly as Fandral winced when Dagmar touched his injured shoulder.

"I assumed you wished for more attention. Perhaps I was mistaken."

"Must you antagonize an injured man, friend Sif?" Volstagg cut in before glares became more. "I am certain we would all fare better once Fandral is healed and we can leave."

Sif whirled to unleash a tirade against the large warrior but another irritated voice beat her to it.

"Leave to the kitchens I assume?" Fandral growled. "Can you not last longer than a few breaths without thinking of your overgrown stomach?"

"Eating has never harmed a single soul. Unlike your tendency to leave broken hearts in your wake."

"What you call broken hearts I call shining moments of beauty long remembered."

The soft-hearted Volstagg bristled at his friend's statement of self-absorption and opened his mouth to reply when a firm grip on his arm halted the barbed words.

Hogun, silent and watchful, had stridden forward a few steps amidst the harsh words flung between friends. He managed to keep Volstagg from speaking further but Sif took the chance to fill the silent room.

"How are you such an egotistical pig, Fandral! Have you no thought for other-"

"_You_ speak thus to me, Maiden of Steel and_ Ice_? Breaker of Bones and Spirits? You have no thoughts for those who admire yo-"

"I do not string them along as if they have a chance! Harsh words are best in such situations."

"You believe that?" Fandral scoffed.

"Yes. I do."

Dagmar stood frozen in meek confusion and rising discomfort as her patient and his friend traded their heated words.

"Then the continued ignorance of a certain Prince is-"

"Say another word and your healer will be needed further . . ." Sif cut him off, hand resting on her sword in warning.

Dagmar jumped back, eyes wide, as her patient jumped up. His normally cheery eyes blazed as he stared down the warrior-woman.

" . . . _hypocrisy_."

"One word too man-"

"Enough."

The single command from the silent member of their company was enough to smother their argument.

Hogun planted himself before Fandral and Sif while Volstagg gently escorted Dagmar to the door.

He was silent for many long moments. Fandral had the presence of mind to appear apologetic. Sif merely traded a constant glare at Fandral for one aimed at the silent man before them.

"Your actions are unacceptable. Arguments have their place, but not among those we are sworn to protect." He said no more, but both could read further statements in his stare by virtue of their long friendship.

_Do not let such an occurrence happen again. See to your differences and set them behind you._

There was a long, awkward silence. Sif turned away with a frustrated growl, while Hogun continued to gaze at Fandral in silent reprimand. After a moment or two, Fandral sheepishly spoke up.

"My apologies," he murmured, more to the group as a whole rather than any one person in particular. "I meant no disrespect."

"You spoke in the trouble of your heart," Volstagg answered, coming back to them. "We all did."

Hogun knew this perhaps better than any of them realized.

Being the silent one of their company, choosing to keep his words few and merely let his eyes speak for him, Hogun had the most unique perspective on his friends. All of them had gone through trials and sorrows in their long lifetimes, and each of his companions had very different ways of coping.

Volstagg – being the soft-hearted kind who would never wish to bring another down with him in his sorrow – always chose instead to retreat to the kitchens. Fandral never wished to dwell on his troubles or the troubles of others, and always insisted on drawing a smile from those around him. Laughter and light-hearted banter, in his case, was a way to distract his mind from his true feelings.

Sif, in stark contrast, chose instead to brood, her frustrations and griefs often coming to bear on those around her.

Hogun could not blame any of them for their behavior, not really. But to quarrel here of all places, surrounded by the wounded or dying, was disgraceful.

"How could this have happened?" Fandral asked quietly, breaking into Hogun's thoughts. "How could the Alfather have _let_ this happen?"

"The Alfather is not to blame," Volstagg replied. He heaved a sigh as he sat down heavily in a chair across the room. "I am certain he knew an attack would come, but he could not have known it would happen like this."

"But if Surtur's purpose was to only regain the Eternal Flame, then surely there was no need for an attack," Fandral pressed, gazing at his knees. "It would have been quite simple for Loki-"

Hogun saw Sif's jaw tighten at the mention of the Trickster. Fandral apparently saw it as well.

" . . . for Loki to enter the Vault unnoticed as he did."

_His tactic was sound_, Hogun observed quietly to himself. _We were prepared for an assault. We were not prepared for a distraction._

"It matters not," Volstagg cut in. "Surtur has clearly achieved his goal, and we did little to hinder him. This attack was but a trial. His next blow will be a heavier one."

Another pause passed between them, as each became lost in their own thoughts. Fandral's eyes were still aimed downward, an apprehensive expression in his normally cheery eyes. Hogun briefly glanced at Sif, still standing with her back to the three of them. It was unusual for Sif to remain silent this long. A habit common to his friend was to rail bitterly against the frustration that every true warrior of Asgard was feeling this night: that of utter helplessness.

The Warrior Maiden was keeping her thoughts and anger turned inward; there was no way to know just how long this silence would last.

"Worry not, my friends!" Volstagg encouraged. "No matter Surtur's schemes, we shall be victorious in the end!"

There was a smile on the large warrior's face . . . but Hogun saw that there was no real joy or confidence behind it. It looked false and empty – almost dead. Just like –

Hogun quickly stopped his thoughts. Dwelling on something he could no longer change would gain him nothing.

"I for one wish I shared your confidence, friend Volstagg," Fandral murmured. "Many of our comrades rest in Valhalla this night . . . and those that remain are as confused and grieved as we. And not just the soldiers." He glanced towards the closed door where Dagmar had departed. "Could you not see it in her eyes? The Healer's House has become a place of mourning. Never before has any healer perished in defense of Asgard."

_Yet it is not for us to wish the dead to return. We shall join with them soon enough . . . as all true warriors will._

"Do you think we . . ." Volstagg cleared his throat, then a deep breath to steady himself. "Could we have stopped it? Could we have -?"

"Saved them?" Fandral returned, his eyes coming up at last. "No, friend. We would have done nothing more than prolonged their passing . . . and we ourselves would have taken the journey to Valhalla with them."

_They perished defending our people – there could be no death nobler than that._

"Far better they live to save us all the burden of mourning."

Sif's sharp voice cut through the air like a sword.

Fandral glanced at her in horrified shock.

"You would ask our warriors to trade the honor of Valhalla fo-"

"I would ask," Sif spat, whirling around to face them at last, "that lives not be thrown away! That those who neither deserve death nor are prepared for Valhalla not be chosen to fall!"

Sif's eyes were blazing, her teeth bared and fists clenched at her sides. She looked nearly as angry as any of them had ever seen . . .

"War is the province of ones such as we: warriors and soldiers who have lived our whole lives in defense of Asgard! We are trained to fight monsters such as the demons of Muspelheim! No healer should have dared to face the same dangers! Their duty was to place their wards upon the gates . . . and then _leave_! They should not have stayed! They should have fled!"

"And leave the Palace Gates to be easily overthrown?" Fandral demanded incredulously. "No warrior would ever be so cowardly as to turn and fl-"

"_They were NOT warriors!_" Sif bellowed hoarsely. "They were healers! Simple healers! That is all! There would have been no shame for them had they simply retreated while they had the chance! They should have left the battle to _true_ warriors! They should have-!"

"One does not need to be a soldier to know when they must fight," Hogun spoke up at last.

Sif turned to face him, a mask of anger and bitterness . . . but she didn't speak.

Then Hogun saw something he had never seen before.

Though Sif's lips were pressed tightly together, drawn to a fine line of rage . . . he could see them trembling, ever so slightly. Behind the cold prison of her eyes he could see the beginnings of tears.

This had nothing to do with the battle itself. It had nothing to do with the dozens of healers that had been slain in the assault.

It was about one healer in particular. One who was as close to her as a sister:

_Sigyn_.

Sigyn's fate had touched a deep-seated fear in Sif's heart.

Fear of fighting a war she knew they could not win.

Fear of having to accept the fate of one so dear to her . . .

And fear of possibly losing those others closest to her heart.

"Sif . . . do not speak this way," Volstagg said gently. "It does not become you to speak ill of the dead. Thor, were he here, would not wish to hear such talk from any of us. Rather we should honor the sacrifices of those who were brave enough to do what was right."

Hogun noticed with interest how the fire in Sif's eyes cooled at the mention of the Crown Prince, how her anger and grief and fear slowly melted away. A very different look rose up in their place . . . Hogun was not certain what to call it. It was almost completely foreign to the Warrior Maiden's face.

Had it been any other, he might have called it affection.

But such a thing had never been seen in her eyes before.

Mentally, he shrugged it off. There would be time later to discuss this further. But as the door to the Healing Room slowly opened and Dagmar's shy, pale face appeared around the corner again, Hogun decided this line of conversation must cease.

Apparently the others felt the same way. Fandral sat still and pensive while the young healer finished her work, Volstagg slowly rose and left the room - for the kitchens, no doubt.

Sif continued to gaze at nothing, lost in her own thoughts.

And Hogun continued to stand in silent vigil over his friends . . . and steeled his heart and mind against all of what was surely coming to the Golden Realm.

* * *

The empty cavern was dark, save for the light that came from himself.

Across the dim space Surtur heard footsteps approaching from the dark corridor beyond. He waited patiently, knowing that the last few pieces of his scheme were finally beginning to fall into place. But the most important piece was yet to be set down.

He would know in a moment if all of his plans had been worth it.

Through the yawning archway his lieutenant stepped into view.

"You sent for me, Lord Surtur," Eldfell growled, keeping his voice low as instructed.

Surtur waited a few moments before replying.

"I have heard the account of the first attack on Asgard, Eldfell," he began. "It seems the Trickster delivered on his promise – and the Eternal Flame is at last in my hands. Asgard will burn, as I swore to the Alfather it would, and the Aesir will fall. But," he paused, rising to his feet and towering above his lieutenant, "there is one account I have yet to hear. That is, of the task I specifically laid upon you."

Eldfell nodded. There was no need for the Lord of Muspelheim to give further explanation. Both understood.

"Have you done it?"

Another black pause . . . but within moments Eldfell broke into a cruel smile.

"Yes, my lord. She is dead."

Surtur felt a dark smile of his own cross his face.

"Tell me."

"It was not difficult," Eldfell assured him. "She was exactly where you said she would be: defending the Palace Gates with the rest of her pathetic kind. She proved better sport than I had believed."

Surtur's smile broadened. He knew better than even Eldfell himself how much sport that pathetic woman could provide.

"But I am still not certain," Eldfell grumbled, "that killing the woman was necessary. Surely it will accomplish nothing towards the taking of Asgard."

But it would.

Surtur knew from the moment the Trickster had set foot in his domain that he was hiding something from him. The Fire Demon lord had refused to believe that an Odinson would come into his midst simply for a bit of sport. He had not chosen to come to Muspelheim, and it was certainly no accident; he had been SENT. The Lie-smith had come to bring about Surtur's ruin – and he knew Loki well enough to know that his will was of solid iron. Nothing could break it once he had made up his mind.

It had not taken long for Surtur to realize the Trickster's one weakness.

The idea was so simple as to be profound. Cunning and wicked and unerringly solid:

_Kill the Healer . . . and break Loki's loyalty._

And now, with the woman gone . . . there was nothing to hold Loki's commitment anymore. He had been stripped of his one reason for defending Asgard.

Now, he would do everything Surtur wanted him to.

"Trust me, my worthy lieutenant," he said finally, "it will accomplish everything."

* * *

How had it come to this? _How?_

Never before, in her long life as Master Healer of Asgard, had Eir ever been forced to prepare her own apprentices for their funeral pyres.

She should have stayed with them. She had at first insisted on remaining. She had argued that she was the most powerful of the Healers; her wards would be far stronger than any other's in Asgard. But they – chief among them Sigyn – had all persuaded her to return to the Healer's House.

Eir was indeed the most powerful . . . and that made her all the more valuable to the long-term protection of Asgard. In the times to come the Golden Realm would need the skills of her Master Healer.

Better to save her selfless sacrifice for the last stand.

So she had returned, leaving Sigyn and eleven others to remain behind and hold the gate that was already yielding to the Fire beyond.

What returned later were charred bodies.

If it had been acceptable, Eir would have locked herself within her rooms and wept.

But she was not even allowed that small amount of self-reproach.

There was work to be done.

One by one, Eir approached the bloodied, charred bodies of those ten women, desperately seeking some sign of life: the flutter of an eyelid, the faintest movement of their chests, the slightest sound of a heart still beating. And, one by one, a shroud was placed over what had once been a gentle, caring soul.

With heavy steps, Eir approached the last bed of all . . .

A young woman draped in the purest white, long sleeves covering the horrific burns she had received from her tormentor. Golden hair like winter sun carefully arranged around a face that merely looked as if she was sleeping.

Eir clenched her jaw, determined to carry out her duty to her apprentice – an apprentice she now wished she had treated more as a daughter than a fellow healer.

She placed her hand over Sigyn's heart, knowing already what she would feel.

A soft ray of silver light issued from the Master Healer's hands as she slowly passed them over the still form before her.

Then suddenly she stopped.

Was it her imagination . . . or was Sigyn's abdomen larger than she remembered?

Eir gently placed a hand against her, allowing a tiny flow of magic to trickle from her fingers.

_A tiny movement pushed back._

It was as if lightening struck Eir's body. She reeled back, a cold feeling of shock racing down her spine. Breathing was suddenly difficult. Her eyes were clouded by a wave of tears.

_It . . . it cannot be . . . It cannot!_

Eir sank to her knees and sobbed, clutching Sigyn's arm.

Sigyn . . . was with child.

* * *

All his life Odin had known one truth above all others. Asgard was strong. Asgard was built to last.

But Asgard, like all things, would one day reach her end. Frigga had, over their long history together, taught him that.

But to end like this . . .? With hardly a chance to fight back? At the fiery whims of an enemy she had prevailed against time and again all her existence?

Odin could not see that his home, his people and his family, would allow such an end to be so.

Surtur was a devious enemy to be sure. Such a tactic should not have been unseen . . .

Odin released a deep sigh, speaking his apprehension only to the night air and the muted lights of Asgard.

He should have known the demon would make an attempt on the Flame first. He should have known . . .

As the Alfather - as Asgard's king - he should have been prepared for the assault.

As a father he had been too worried over his children to give the Alfather time to prepare.

Not a day went by where Odin did not wonder and worry.

His oldest was home, protected and as safe as any Asgardian warrior could be. No, Thor's fate did not weigh heavy on his mind, even if the wellbeing of his heart was thought upon regularly.

It was his youngest, his _chosen_ son, who drove the need to rest from his limbs and weighed them down in turn. His prodigal whom he had heard little about in the previous weeks, leaving him to do naught but wait and wonder and worry.

Yet Odin trusted him. Though all Asgard knew him only as traitor and sly villain . . . his father had trusted him to shoulder the burden and play the role given him.

And if there was anything Loki excelled in, it was when he had a role to play.

Of course Loki would have been the one to steal the Flame. In Surtur's eyes no greater proof of his villainy could be given. Yet there was another purpose.

Today they had suffered a terrible loss.

But Odin knew it could have been worse. Had it been the demons themselves who made it to the Vault . . . By confining the attack to the northern gate and entering the Vault himself in the ensuing chaos Loki saved not only lives but the invaluable weapons stored there.

This more than anything made Odin hope.

He could do little else with the news of his daughter clawing grievously at his thoughts. He could do little but hope Loki remained true to his role despite the tragedy.

A deep, muffled sob from behind him shook thoughts of his children from his mind.

Turning quickly from the bright stars he saw in their light his wife asleep but in the throes of yet another nightmare.

Odin strode quickly to their bed, reaching it just as Frigga's hand unclenched from the soft pillow and her eyes fluttered open. For a brief moment, terror clouded her gaze but, even as he sat himself carefully beside her, it faded to be replaced with deep sorrow and a quiet emotion he hardly recognized in his strong-willed wife.

This quiet emotion pulled him closer, brought his hands to hold hers tight, told him to speak not a word.

She had Seen what was to come. He had no doubt of that. She had Seen and knew what would occur.

That alone had never caused such . . . resignation in her countenance.

And so Odin set aside the mantle of Alfather, stepped away from the mind of the King, let himself, just for a moment, relinquish his title of Father.

For that brief moment . . . he was just Odin.

And he desperately hoped.


	16. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

"Asgard is ready to fall."

Sometimes it amazed Surtur how quickly his lieutenants could become overconfident.

Not a full day had passed since the first attack on Asgard had been carried out, and already the arrogance of each of his soldiers had grown to an almost dangerous level. Arrogance could breed pride . . . and pride was one of the deadliest enemies to any would-be conqueror.

Surtur had learned long ago to guard himself carefully against such weaknesses. Nothing would be certain until the last remnant of Asgard was wiped from the face of the universe, and he was standing amidst the burning ruins of the Alfather's throne room.

Only then would he let himself give in to pride.

Asgard would fall . . . but not yet.

Surtur slowly looked away from the intricately carved map imbedded in the black wall before him and fixed Eldfell with a piercing look.

"You think so?" he growled quietly.

His lieutenant's smug grin slipped just slightly.

"Lord Surtur . . . with respect I do not think. I _know_. If you had seen the terror in the Aesir's eyes as we slew them in droves, you would be just as certain as I. The people of Asgard are as dry leaves, ready for their fate as kindling for your fire! If but a small number of your warriors could wreak such devastation on their heads, then surely –"

"If this assault has taught you anything, Eldfell," Surtur cut him off, "it is to let small victories cloud your judgment. Our small number succeeded because it was the last thing Asgard expected. You have yet to contend with the full might of the Aesir . . . and Odin will not be caught off guard so easily again."

"But with Twilight reformed, your might can easily overcome that of the Alfather!" Eldfell protested. "Why not seize this chance to destroy him now? With the Alfather dead the rest of Asgard will collapse before a week has passed!"

"And if the Crown Prince chooses to call out the full strength of his armies and lay siege to Muspelheim?" Surtur snapped. "If Thor called forth every ally of his people and the weight of four realms came down on our heads? How easily do you believe Twilight alone could drive back that many enemies – blood hot with desire for revenge?"

"You still have your armies, my lord," Eldfell reminded him, the smug note of arrogance returning to his voice.

"Which will avail me none, since every one of my soldiers seems to believe Asgard has already fallen!" Surtur roared. A deadly silence settled over the room, and the Fire Demon lord could even sense the apprehension in the guards as they waited beside the doors. "You must learn the value of _patience,_ Eldfell," he hissed after a moment. "You more than any should know that the best laid plans can be overthrown by one impatient act. No . . . no, I have waited a thousand years for this. I can wait a little longer."

His lieutenant looked doubtful . . . but even he was wise enough to recognize when it was useless to continue to argue.

"For now," Surtur mused, "Asgard is still reeling from this attack. We must use that time to prepare for their counter-attack."

"You believe the Alfather is foolish enough to risk open battle with your armies here on Muspelheim?" Eldfell muttered doubtfully.

"No." Surtur allowed a small chuckle that sounded like the crackle of a small fire. "No the Alfather will not bring his armies here. He will gather his strength. He will send word to his allies for their aid."

"Only if he chooses to open the Bifrost again," the other pointed out.

"The Bifrost is not the only path by which messages can be brought," the Muspelheim demon replied. "Our pet traitor has shown us that much. But there is another path-walker who could aid the Alfather in bringing the other Realms down on our heads."

"Ratatosk." Eldfell all but spat the name. He never had much liking for the Guardian of Yggdrasil. "His loyalties lie with no one. Not even the Alfather can command him to do his bidding. You trust the Tree's pet Rat to bend to Odin's will?"

"I trust in nothing, my ignorant lieutenant," the Lord of Fire replied smoothly, turning back to the stone carving of Asgard's domain. "I merely plan for all possibilities. And Ratatosk is one of them. Therefore we must devise some means to keep the allies of Asgard distracted."

"Exactly how do you plan to do this, my lord?" Eldfell demanded, clearly becoming impatient. It drew another twisted smile from his commander.

"An emissary from Svartalfheim arrived here not long after our attack on Odin's palace," he replied. "Malekith seems extremely eager to ally himself with me – if only to avoid the destruction of his own people, I am sure. But the messenger insisted the Dark Elves stand ready for my command." Surtur paused, seeing the amused grin on Eldfell's face that mirrored his own. "The Dark Elves have their uses, but they would simply become a hindrance if I summoned them to Asgard with us. But if Malekith the Accursed really wishes to prove his worth to me . . . then Alfheim would be a much better target for his rage."

He stepped back a few paces, letting the carved map of Asgard fill his entire vision.

"And then, to deal with Asgard itself . . . "

He let his statement fade off into silence, allowing his black eyes to roam aimlessly over each chiseled line, every minute detail laid down with painstaking accuracy. This map had been created by his own hand, in the moment he had found his way back into his physical form. Trapped within the body of the Vanir healer Surtur had made good use of her naïve mind and trusting nature, memorizing each facet of the Golden Realm. Every passageway, every room, every door, every detail seen and locked within his memories. Now, with that information, Surtur had – he was sure – the most intricate map of Asgard ever created. He spent nearly every free moment he had before this wall, seeking some weakness, some small oversight he had glimpsed that he could use to his advantage.

Surtur's gaze passed over familiar territory, chiseled curves and fine lines over blackened stone.

The Main Gate of Asgard – high walls of nearly impenetrable stone, it's only weakness the huge bronze doors that opened only to the touch of another Asgardian.

The Palace Gates – these would now be broken and maimed beyond repair. This would make an easier entrance . . . but Surtur knew that Odin would recognize this as well; the guards that would surely be placed around that entrance would be able to repel any force Surtur sent there.

The Barracks – filled with hundreds of thousands of well-trained soldiers in five specific encampments throughout the city. If he wished to neutralize the Asgardian Army, he would be forced to split his own soldiers into smaller groups to destroy all of them at once. And surely Odin would expect such an attack.

Surtur let his eyes leave the carved barrack runes in search of another option.

The Palace gardens – laughable. Only fit as kindling to burn the city to the ground.

The Weapon's Vault – this was a far more subtle detail on Surtur's map: a tiny rune tucked away beneath the Throne Room, deep below the Alfather's watchful eye. But once again Surtur realized that Odin would be prepared for another attempt on those huge bronze doors. His pet Trickster had managed to slip inside and escape with the Flame . . . but there would be no chance he could manage to open that pathway up for the Fire Demon Lord again.

And he already had his prize – what was left in that Vault mattered little to him now.

Behind him, Surtur heard Eldfell shift impatiently. His lieutenant was clearly ready for action, not further planning.

Which was why Surtur was lord and Eldfell was not.

"Every realm has a weakness," Surtur muttered to himself, not caring if his lieutenant stared. "No matter the size, no matter the strength, a flaw exists somewhere within high walls and stone battlements." He leaned closer to the map. "So where is yours, Alfather? Where is your arrogant confidence? . . . What is your weakness?"

"Mortality."

Surtur looked to the entrance of his personal cavern. Standing there was the tiny figure of his little turncoat.

The Fire Demon lord had wondered when his pet traitor would make his appearance. Loki had been seen little since the attack on Asgard – cowering, no doubt, spending long hours pathetically grieving for his wife's extermination. It was difficult for Surtur to keep the satisfied smile off of his face; this conversation would no doubt be interesting.

"Mortality?" Eldfell growled. "What do you mean, Trickster?"

"Mortality is the weakness of any who dwell among the living."

"Are you mad?" Eldfell all but spat at the approaching figure. "The Alfather's claim to dominion is the very fact that he CANNOT die!"

"The only true immortals are the dead," Loki returned, slowly striding across the darkened room.

"Are you saying there is a way to render the Alfather mortal?" Surtur cut his lieutenant off. The look on the Lie-smith's face when he said that last statement . . .

"Not just the Alfather . . . Asgard itself."

For the first time since his schemes began Surtur found himself utterly speechless. Never had he even thought such a thing possible. Could Odin Alfather truly have such a weakness?

Or was this yet another facet to Loki's lies?

There was a long, tense pause as Surtur silently studied the figure before his feet. Shoulders squared and tense, hands clenched tightly, posture stiff and unmoving. And green eyes were staring back into his own, cold and unblinking.

The Trickster was deadly serious.

"How?"

Loki strode forward towards the stone map and touched a small icon that Surtur had all but overlooked just minutes before. Surtur leaned forward to better view what his pet was showing him: a small carving of what looked like a tree . . .

"The Tree of Asgard, in the eastern palace garden. The Golden Apples that grow there are the secret to the Aesir's strength and immortality. Destroy the Tree . . . and Asgard will fall."

"You expect us to simply send another raiding party into Asgard to burn one tree?" Eldfell scoffed.

Loki did not laugh.

"No. I will go myself."

Surtur's eyes narrowed at the Frost Giant Prince.

"And why would a Prince of Asgard make such a choice?"

"Always has Asgard seen fit to lord itself over the other Realms. As if their terms of morality and justice are the only way. For too long they have lived as gods. Let all the Realms see the truth at last."

Loki was clever, to be sure. Surtur could detect no outward sign of anger, or grief, or bitterness, or any other emotion he knew the Frost Giant was suffering under. He saw nothing but a cold and calculating man, standing before him and offering what was probably the one and only way to fulfill the Fire Demon's desire.

It was a tempting offer . . . and one that any other fool would have thrown himself whole-heartedly into without a second thought.

But Surtur was no fool.

Loki was a difficult man to read – even for those who claimed to know and "love" him. But Surtur's mind cast back to a moment several years ago, stolen through a woman's eyes, that seemed to be the only way to pierce the outward shell.

_"Your eyes have always betrayed you, Loki . . ."_

And so Surtur watched those small emerald lights.

And within them he saw something very different.

What he saw, hidden behind a shield of cold steel, was a man nearly out of his mind. Only there did Surtur see everything Loki was trying to hide: the exhaustion, the grief, the pain, the rage. The woman's death affected him far more than perhaps even he himself realized. Within that man was a wild beast clawing at its cage, longing for release – however it could get it.

Perfect.

Loki was not called the God of Chaos for nothing . . . and Surtur would rather that chaos work for him than against him. So what better way for the Lord of Muspelheim to ensure the continued loyalty of his pet traitor than to allow him to carry out his desire?

For once the Trickster came to himself and realized what he had done . . . he would have no choice but to obey Surtur's every command.

After a long silence, Surtur slowly nodded.

"Suppose what you say is true," he said at last, "and I allow you to do this . . . how do you intend to carry out your plan? I presume the Tree is well-protected."

"Odin would be a fool to leave such a prize unprotected," Loki scoffed. "Long ago, the Alfather and the healers of Vanehiem placed a barrier around the Tree, shielding it both from the powers of nature and the powers of those who would seek to use the Tree for themselves. Magic alone would not avail against such safeguards, or else I would have destroyed it myself long before this."

"Then what do you suggest?" Eldfell growled. "Do not waste our time with useless musings of history!"

Loki gave Surtur's lieutenant a long, calculating look.

"Tell me, Eldfell, do you ever think before you speak?"

One glance from Surtur kept the Fire Demon from tearing out the Trickster's throat. After a moment or two Loki continued.

"The creators of the Tree, however, were not without their own weaknesses. They had never discovered a way to make the Tree truly invincible. It could be defended against magic and time and the elements of nature. However, there was one element they were unable to counter . . ."

Surtur waited patiently as Loki took one step back to regard the Lord of Muspelheim.

" . . . Fire."

And now at last, Surtur understood Loki's purpose.

"I see. You wish for me to send one of my soldiers t–"

"I told you; _I_ will destroy it myself," Loki snapped, displaying emotion for the first time since he entered the room. It lasted but a moment. "All I require of you is a weapon I may use to that end."

Surtur considered this. It was a dangerous request . . . but one that he knew was necessary to achieve his goals.

Much must be risked in war.

He turned to Eldfell, who was continuing to glare at Loki, claws curling and uncurling as if he was longing to place them around the Trickster's neck . . .

"Eldfell." His lieutenant reluctantly tore his gaze away from Loki. "Give Narogk to the Trickster."

Eldfell clearly did not look happy about having to surrender his own weapon for such a purpose . . . but he was also not foolish enough to refuse an order from his commander. Slowly, he drew a long knife from its sheath at his side. To a Fire Demon it was more a toy than a weapon . . . but when Loki's fingers curled around the hilt it became an Asgardian-sized sword.

There was no need for Surtur to explain that Narogk was not an ordinary dagger, but one specially crafted for a Fire Demon's use. He did not need to tell him that the steel blade, now cold and lifeless, would burn with living flames when once the user called upon its powers. He did not have to enlighten the Traitor Prince to the knowledge that Narogk would draw upon its handler to make him even more powerful. Nor did he feel the need to warn Loki that using such a weapon would come at a heavy price if one's conscience was not completely seared.

There was no need for explanation.

Loki already knew.

"Take with you six of my soldiers," Surtur instructed as Loki turned away and strode toward the open doorway. "It would be of no use to me if you were killed in this venture. Your usefulness has not yet come to an end."

The tiny black silhouette never once answered him or even looked back.

* * *

Loki left Surtur's presence as a hollow shell – a hole where his soul was once filled with life and the memory of moments of joy.

If his Sigyn was gone then what was the point of caring anymore?

She had burned.

Now, so would Asgard.

* * *

The garden was quiet, peaceful – a welcome sanctuary against the fear that lay beyond Asgard's walls.

As she walked through the eastern end of the palace garden, bathed in the last remaining glow from the setting suns, Idunn reflected on Surtur's last attack on the city. How the Fire Demon could have made his way into the heart of the palace was something she still could not believe. Asgard had remained unattacked and unbreached for centuries beyond count, the power of the Alfather serving as both a warning and a weapon against those who would choose to stand up to him. Nothing had ever broken through this realm's defenses before; but now, all of Asgard was faced with the terrifying reality that perhaps – just maybe – they were not so strong as they had believed.

The first assault from Muspelheim had been a crushing blow, destroying the palace gates and killing or wounding countless innocents. Eir had her hands full at the Healer's House, tending to those who were still clinging to life, and she depended upon Idunn to provide both the healing herbs she would need as well as the Apples to restore the soldiers and injured healers.

She hardly ever left the gardens these days. Too much was at stake.

But in the midst of the pain and sorrow of Asgard, there was perhaps one small ray of hope:

The High Feast would take place tomorrow.

With the help of the Golden Apples Asgard would gather her strength and renew her courage. There had been whispers among the guards and the few healers Idunn spoke with, rumors of what the Alfather was planning. Many were now wishing to take the war to Muspelheim itself, to avenge the deaths of so many lives lost.

Idunn rarely cared for war or the schemes such endeavors spawned. But in this one brief moment of time – knowing her dear cousin had been taken from her – she almost wished the rumors were true.

Suddenly, she heard a distant shout. A cry of command, and one she felt she should recognize –

Followed by the sound of a wall bursting into pieces.

The shockwaves knocked Idunn to her knees, shaking the ground beneath her with devastating swiftness. Shouts and cries broke out anew, mingled with –

Idunn froze, heart hammering in her chest.

_No. It cannot be! Not now! Not HERE!_

She abandoned everything in an instant, scrambling to her feet and rushing down the western path towards the center of the garden. Already she could see the glow of flames peering through the trees of the garden.

It was impossible. Unthinkable!

The armies of Muspelheim had come to the very heart of Asgard.

She turned a corner, stumbling as smoke began to sting her eyes. The air around her was thick and close, as if she could feel life leave the ageless trees of the palace garden. But through the ash and smoke she could see all too well what was happening. Fire Demons were prowling through the garden paths, striking down or burning everything that stood in their way. Screams and cries of pain from the guards mingled with the roars of laughter from the enemy.

And in the midst of it all a tall, black shadow was moving towards the very center of the garden.

A blast of flame from one of the hell hounds lit up the space around her.

The shadow's face glowed for an instant.

_No . . . it cannot be – _

"Loki!"

Her scream went unheeded by the young prince. He seemed oblivious to all else around him. In his hand he held a long, wicked sword, its blade engulfed in roaring flames.

She stumbled along the path towards him just as he came to stop before the largest tree of all.

_The Tree_.

He lifted his weapon, pointed it directly into the heart of the Tree, the heart of Asgard itself.

"_No, Loki!_" she screamed.

She was so close she could see his hands tighten on his weapon, teeth bared, a smile of insanity on his lips.

"_NO!_"

She flung the only weapon she had; a stone hurtled through the air –

Loki's head snapped to the side, Idunn's projectile only just catching the side of his head.

The prince whirled to face her, eyes blazing with madness. With a snarl of rage, he flung one of his hidden daggers at her. The tip of the blade caught the fabric of her sleeve, drawing a startled cry from the Keeper of the Tree. Another sharp twist of his wrist and Loki sent her sprawling to the side.

"You _dare_ to stand in my way?!" he bellowed, flames consuming the living green behind him.

Idunn picked herself up, clutching her arm and keeping herself between the Tree of Asgard and the madman that stood before her.

"I will not – _cannot_ – let you do this, Loki!" she answered, her voice a tremulous scream above the roar of the wildfire.

Harsh, barking laughter erupted in the hot, dry air.

"It does not matter. My quarrel is not with you. Now step aside!"

"You do not understand what the consequences of your actions will be!"

"The consequences will only be worse for you if you do not stand aside."

"Please, my prince! I am begging you – for the sake of all you hold dear – do not do this!"

"And if I choose to do so anyway?" he challenged, flames glowing hotter on the blade he held in his hands.

"Then you . . . you should kill me now. Without the Tree to protect, I have no purpose in life."

Her voice shook as she spoke. She did not wish to die . . . but she was prepared to.

In that instant, something happened.

The madness in Loki's eyes faded, just slightly, but enough to reveal deeper emotions the anger was shielding.

Pain . . . anguish . . .

Only once before had Idunn seen that much despair in his eyes – with the death of his first-born child, now years ago.

Death alone could instill that look in his eyes.

_He knew of Sigyn's sacrifice_.

And he also knew that Idunn was prepared to make that same sacrifice. For the Alfather. For all of Asgard . . .

"You – " he began, in a voice quite different than before. But suddenly his jaw tightened, throat working as if he was trying to swallow his thoughts. There was a brief internal struggle –

Within moments the cold indifference returned to his expression, and he laughed.

"You are no warrior," Loki waved his hand dismissively. "You are not trained to fight and die. Your purpose is life and growth. You have no need to die here. So." His face twisted into a cold sneer. "Do not stand in my way."

He was giving her a chance. A chance to flee to safety.

It was a chance they both knew she could not take.

How to make Loki see that what he intended to do had further-reaching ramifications than perhaps even he knew? How to dissuade him from his anger and madness?

He could have done it, then and there. He could have easily pushed past her and destroyed the Tree while she was frantically thinking.

She half expected him to do so anyway.

But he didn't.

He waited.

Was he toying with her? Taunting her with a maybe-promise to turn back and let Asgard live, if only for one more day?

_Or was he waiting to be reasoned with?_

"Loki, I implore you, stop and think. Think about what you are about to do! Can you possibly understand what Asgard – what the Nine Realms! – will become if the Tree were gone?"

"I care not."

"If you did not care, you would have hardly spared me mere moments ago. Why, Loki? Why not kill me now if all I am is an obstacle?"

He did not answer her, did not meet her eyes. He remained staring determinedly somewhere in the vicinity of her shoulder or her ear.

She gripped her arm tighter, having felt the slow trickle start some minutes earlier. It was silent between them, only the roar of the fires around them and the frantic beating of her heart in her ears.

Neither of them moved, Idunn watching the figure with the sword, Loki with his stare of cold fire aimed not at her eyes but . . .

He hadn't once looked her in the eyes.

Idunn ignored the part of her that longed to cower in fear before the power the Prince wielded and took a slow step closer. He held his place, his fingers only gripping the sword tighter.

Still his eyes did not meet hers –

_Oh . . ._

She knew now what he was focusing on.

Her hair.

Of the same color and length as –

"Loki . . . if you do not care . . . why will you not look at me?"

Still Loki was silent, his eyes fiery with anguish. Idunn didn't move, despite the dry smoke and heat from the burning garden, despite the need to raise the cry that the city was in danger. For the sake of Asgard's future, the man before her had to see and understand . . .

To understand that _She_ would not have wanted this . . .

But in that moment, surrounded by fire and foes on every side . . . Idunn realized why he had stopped. Why he had, for that one brief space of time, forgotten himself. Forgotten his purpose. Forgotten his anger . . .

He was haunted by memories of his wife.

Perhaps there was still a way to dissuade him.

She took another cautious step towards the silent figure before her.

"Loki . . . she would not wish to be remembered in this way."

Blazing eyes snapped to finally look into hers – and Idunn could not help but gasp.

All trace of remorse, of hesitation, was gone – replaced instead by consuming anger.

"And how would she have wanted to be remembered?" he demanded. "As a hero of Asgard? One who needlessly laid down her own life for those who for too long now have held her in contempt? Do not pretend innocence, Idunn! You have joined with their voices before; can you honestly tell me that you never wished Sigyn had never known me?"

"I cannot change the past, Loki!" Idunn shouted back, a feeling of desperation rising up in her throat.

"Nor can I!" he bellowed. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword so hard the knuckles were white.

"But you can change _this!_ You can change _all _of this – here and now!"

The universe held its breath, waiting for the reply of the God of Chaos.

Idunn also waited, hoping – _praying_ – that the Prince of Asgard would come to himself, would see what great sin he would commit, would turn aside from his anger . . .

"Please, Loki . . . it need not end this way. If you cared anything for Sigyn . . . do not dishonor her memory like this."

Too late, Idunn saw her mistake, realized that she-

Cold, steel fingers closed on her wrist.

"If not for the Alfather I would have more than _memories_ of her," he hissed in her ear. "I am beyond caring for Asgard, for the Alfather – for _you_!"

In one swift movement Loki roughly threw her to the ground behind him.

Idunn looked up in time to see a bright glow surround Loki as he called on his magic . . . and before her eyes Loki changed from lost prince to warrior. Black leather became steel and gold, his black coat now draped in bright green. And crowning all, the horned helmet of the God of Chaos appeared.

Loki raised his sword, now engulfed in raging flames, readied himself –

_Please let this be a trick, a dream, anything! Please don't-!_

– And hurled the blade into the Tree of Asgard.

* * *

"Vali, stop shaking the floor! You're making me mess up!" Howard yelled angrily, gathering up the metal pieces he had been putting together.

"I'm not doing anything!" Vali insisted.

The floor beneath the two boys trembled again, as if the storm raging outside decided to turn on Stark Tower in its fury.

"Is it an earthquake?" Howard asked, his voice shaking just a little.

"No." Vali's forehead was wrinkled, lines of concentration once again transforming him into his father. "No it's not . . . it's magic."

He scrambled to his feet and trotted to the wide, sweeping windows. Rain pelted against glass furiously, the sky beyond dark with storm clouds and an occasional burst of lightening.

Maybe it was his uncle, the Thunder God, coming from Asgard to fight for the humans again.

Or maybe he was coming to take him home.

But no . . . the feeling was not right. It wasn't a happy feeling.

He didn't know what kind of feeling it was . . .

"Howard . . . " he whispered as his friend came to stand beside him, "something very bad just happened . . ."

* * *

The forests of Alfheim trembled as if they themselves were afraid.

Lord Freyr shot up from his bed, a ready alertness flooding his senses. He had felt the call, the call to arms, the call to defend –

But no . . . the feeling was not right. It was not a feeling of danger.

It was a feeling of impending disaster – on another Realm.

For the first time in months, Freyr was worried.

What could possibly have happened on Asgard that the magic of Alfheim would have felt it . . .?

* * *

Njord felt the uneasy tempest, as if all of Vanaheim sensed that something was amiss.

Surely not with Vanaheim itself?

No . . . no the feeling was not right. It was not a feeling of unrest with his own realm.

It was another world that was suddenly thrown on-end.

Asgard? What could possibly have happened in the Golden Realm that the fields of Vanaheim felt it . . .?

* * *

Deep in his private war room, Surtur sensed the flow of Yggdrasil's magic shift.

Chaos surrounded the Golden Realm now . . . it simply was not aware of it yet.

The Fire Demon lord smiled wickedly to himself.

So the deed was done . . .

* * *

A sharp crack startled Karnilla from her brooding reflections.

The Norn queen whirled around to face the sound, senses alert for a possible attack.

But when she faced the wall behind her throne, she felt herself stiffen.

The carving depicting the World Tree had shattered from top to bottom, rending the worlds asunder.

For a long while, Karnilla stared at it. The crack started from the pinnacle of the representation, the golden carving of Asgard now splintered, slashed as if by a knife. The rift continued downward, splitting the great trunk of Yggdrasil nearly to the roots.

No blade had made this stroke.

It had been powerful magic.

And she knew what was coming now . . .

* * *

Panting, desperate, Idunn tried to rise to her feet, hindered by the pain in her arm and blinding tears that refused to clear from her eyes.

_No . . . no . . .!_

She had to stop this. Had to stop the Tree from –

Strong hands caught her waist, dragging her back.

"Watch."

She tried to pull away. Loki grabbed her chin, fingers stretching into a bruising grip.

"You. Will. _Watch!_"

He jerked her head back to where the flames rose about the Tree.

"You will watch as Asgard's strength is consumed . . ."

Apples turned brown, then black as the heat rose: golden sheen became leathery.

The leaves curled and fell, soft and white and papery as snow.

The fire rose higher as tears coursed down her face.

". . . as her _life_ is taken."

Her legs had given out. The only things holding Idunn up now were the iron-strong arms around her waist and throat.

"You will watch as . . . as Asgard's hope burns. Like _mine_ did."

The entire Tree was engulfed in flames when his hands, still cold despite the heat of the fire, released her and she fell to her knees.

As if in a daze, she watched as the once-Prince of Asgard strode towards the raging inferno, wrenching his sword from the already-gaping wound in the trunk, flames licking the edges hungrily. He paused for a moment, as if admiring his work, then slowly turned away.

A pair of booted feet paused beside her trembling form.

"What . . . have you done?" she gasped. "_What have you done?_"

He did not answer her, merely continued back down the path he had walked through only minutes before.

"Why?" she screamed. "_WHY?!"_

The retreating figure paused, but did not turn back.

"It's quite simple, Idunn," he answered. "If my Sigyn was fated to die . . . then so should all of Asgard."

Idunn held back another cry - pain and grief combined - as he disappeared through the gate.


	17. Chapter 16

_Author's Note__: Well, our excuse for posting this next chapter so quick is just because...we want to add to the torture. Lol! No seriously, this is one of my favorite chapters that we've put together . . . maybe it's just because I really like angst! Ha ha! Anyways, I know these chapters are long, but they are SO worth it! All of these chapters have so much stuffed into them! I hope we pick up a few new followers because of this, because this really is our best work, and the one we're most proud of. Anyways, please leave a review for us! We love reading what you guys have to think! _

* * *

CHAPTER 16

The suns rose over the distant mountains once more.

They cared nothing for the troubles of other Realms they shone down upon, unchanged through the ages. Their purpose was to bring light and warmth to the children of the World Tree. No matter the struggles below, their purpose remained unchanged.

How could those bright orbs have known that the light they gave to Asgard below was cloaked by the haze of smoke and ash? How could they have seen their golden arms had been turned to blood, spreading a sickly glare over the vast city below?

How could they have understood that the Realm Eternal was eternal no more?

A lonely figure stood atop a high pinnacle, beyond gold and marble colonnades. The harsh wind that rushed over the landscape whipped at his cape, as blood-red as the sunrise that now shone in his eyes. Those blue eyes were ordinarily filled with life, with laughter, with nobility and pride in the land he called his home.

But now, those eyes were staring at the lifeless, smoldering ruin that lay far below him.

When Thor had arrived, leading a score or more of fierce soldiers, he found to his dismay that the enemy had fled. Scattered corpses of the guards and blazing carnage was left in their wake.

Every living, growing thing in that peaceful garden was engulfed in flames, ash and smoke filling the air around him. The order was swiftly sent out to search the garden for any that may have survived yet another blow from Muspelheim.

It had not taken Thor long to hear the despairing cries.

Lying against the burning ground, her arms above her head, her wailing screams rising above the roar of flames, was Idunn.

Her arm was cut and bleeding, and there seemed to be no strength left within her to do aught else but weep.

Thor had looked up to see the Tree of Asgard – the source of the might and strength of the Aesir – crumbling in ruins.

Idunn had been taken to the Healer's House, but there had been little any could do but stand back and watch as the fire slowly faded, the Tree surrendering everything it had to Muspelheim's fury.

Later, amidst hysterical sobs, the entirety of the attack had been revealed.

He now looked down on all that remained of that garden.

There would be no Feast that day. No reason to celebrate, no cause for joy or hope or renewed courage.

As Thor turned his eyes to the north, he could just see in the light of the growing day, line upon line of torches winding through the foothills.

The less stout-hearted of the Aesir saw less hope than even he did . . . and they were fleeing for the safety of the mountains. As if they hoped to escape the coming end by hiding beyond the city.

Thor sighed. It did not matter anymore. Whether one chose to flee for imagined safety or stay within Asgard itself and die a warrior's death, it did not matter. One way or another, Surtur would hunt down every last Aesir and slaughter them mercilessly.

It was just a matter of time.

Was there any longer any point of hoping?

Soft footfalls behind drew his attention from his brooding thoughts. He half turned and saw Sif appear out of the corner of his eye.

He tried to smile at her. Tried to cover up the despair and resignation he felt in his heart. But he knew his smile never reached his eyes.

Sif said nothing either. She simply took his hand in hers and held tight.

That small gesture returned a tiny ray of hope to his mind:

_At least I will not die alone_.

* * *

The Trickster was becoming dangerous.

Eldfell had been at first rather amused by the appearance of Asgard's resident Trickster. He could see no real reason for Loki being here, except to provide occasional entertainment. The tale of his banishment from Asgard had, of course, been made known to all the Realms, thanks to the World Tree's pet Rat, and Eldfell had watched with twisted delight as the Trickster attempted to assure Surtur that he was valuable to the Fire Demon lord's cause.

Surely there was nothing useful Loki could have provided.

But during these last few weeks, Eldfell had noticed with growing concern just how well the Trickster served his master. First with the plot to recover the Eternal Flame (something Eldfell himself had been devising for months now, ever since his master's return), and then to create political unrest between Asgard's allies. Word had reached Muspelheim of the Norn Queen's confrontation with the Alfather, and it seemed as if Asgard had been left with one less ally.

Now, with the revelation and subsequent destruction of the Tree of Asgard, Surtur had all the more reason to favor his little turncoat.

And if that was not bad enough, Loki had used Eldfell's own weapon to do the deed.

He was not foolish enough to protest a direct order from his master, but Eldfell could not help the feeling of helpless rage course through him as he handed Narogk to the Trickster. That he should be denied not only the honor of burning the Tree himself, but forced to give over a part of his power to the Lie-smith, was more than Eldfell could stand.

Loki was becoming a threat – a threat that might one day soon be standing at Surtur's side where Eldfell had once stood.

He had worked too hard and slit too many throats to let this happen.

It was time he did something about it.

He had considered his options carefully over the last few days, since the assault on Asgard began. Surtur plainly thought Loki still had some useful purpose to serve, even after this little escapade. To outright kill the Asgardian would be foolish at best – disastrous at worst. The Trickster, though clearly weakened since he first came to Muspelheim, was still a formidable opponent – a seasoned warrior and powerful sorcerer.

Eldfell had no wish to engage in a fight he knew he could not win . . . but if he were to inadvertently kill Loki while defending himself . . .

He could think of no better way – both to eliminate the dangerous little liar . . . and have some sport along the way.

Which was why Eldfell now watched from above the fortress gate for the task force to return. It would be entertaining to see what the Lie-smith would look like after such an encounter.

A rift in the blackness surrounding the open plains appeared, and the tiny form of the Trickster stepped through the void.

But, Eldfell noted with surprise, he was garbed now in his ceremonial armor. The golden, horned helmet gleamed even from this distance. Interesting.

As the group approached the gates Eldfell retreated from his post, carefully watching the Trickster's every move. He saw them pass through the open portal, all but the Asgardian boasting in yet another victory. Loki's reaction was particularly intriguing, or so the fire demon felt. There was an almost euphoric expression in his face – a fire burning in those bright green eyes that was so unlike anything Eldfell had seen in the little turncoat. His teeth were bared, a smile of near-insanity on his lips. Narogk was sheathed at his side, but Eldfell saw how gingerly he was holding his hands – burned, no doubt, from the heat of Narogk's powers. Frost Giants had no love of fire.

A crowd had gathered in the barren courtyard, eager to hear the Trickster's account.

"Take joy in this day, fellow enemies of Asgard," Eldfell heard Loki crow triumphantly. "The strength of the Aesir has fallen. Before a month has passed, Asgard shall be ours!"

Deafening roars echoed throughout the mountains.

But Eldfell was not watching his fellow Fire Demons. He was watching the Trickster.

It seemed, even from that distance, that Eldfell saw Loki's shoulders slump, just slightly. Some of the fire seemed to vanish from his eyes, and an unconscious movement of his hands clenched burned fingers together for a moment.

Weakened, exhausted, and wounded.

Eldfell smiled to himself.

The perfect opportunity.

He watched as Loki waved dismissively at his soldiers, then turned aside and disappeared through a side portal that lead into the black interior of the fortress.

Eldfell followed . . . but at a distance.

Loki continued down the darkened passageway, following it's twists and turns deeper into the mountain. Eldfell could see that, every dozen steps or so, the other would hesitate, reach out to steady himself against the wall, and then continue on his way.

After several long, silent minutes, the Fire Demon watched as Loki disappeared through a black archway.

When Eldfell cautiously peered around the corner he was just in time to see Loki remove his helmet with an almost wearied sigh.

Almost immediately after, the Trickster stiffened, half-glanced over his shoulder.

"Stealth is not one of your strengths," came the quiet, mocking voice.

Eldfell took a step further into the room.

"A Fire Demon has no need for stealth, Trickster."

Loki laughed softly, smoothing his hair away from his eyes.

"Clearly. Which must be why your master chose _me_ to lead his soldiers . . . not _you_."

No doubt the Trickster hoped to upset Eldfell with this. But not this time. _Loki _was the plaything now, not him.

"And how did you like your first taste of our fire?" Eldfell caught the briefest glimpse of burned skin before the trickster-traitor curled his hands closed.

But there was a secret smile playing about his lips now, and a low laugh filled the empty silence of the cave.

"It was . . . _intoxicating_," he admitted softly.

Eldfell smiled in return.

"So different from any power that you yourself possess, is it not?" he asked, taking a few slow steps towards the Trickster. "Base. Raw. _Primitive_ even. No amount of magic or trickery or sweetened lies could ever equal the power that our kind boast. But . . ." he added, glancing with pleasure at Loki's clenched fists, "it comes with a price for those without the strength to use it."

Fire flashed in Loki's eyes, wild and unrestrained.

"How dare you speak thus to me!" he snapped. "I have done what none other in the Nine Realms can boast! I have destroyed the Tree – Asgard's hope and salvation – using the very power you claim is beyond my control!"

"Temper, temper, Odinson," Eldfell scolded lightly. "I spoke not of you. The chaos you have created with this one outburst of feral power is truly impressive. Not one of Asgard's enemies could boast in an achievement as fine as the one you have just accomplished."

"Take care your master does not hear you speak this way, Eldfell," Loki growled. "He may take exception to your treasonous words."

"Oh, come now, Trickster, take _pride_ in what you have done!" Eldfell crowed, watching with delight as the traitor prince trembled with barely-controlled emotion. "In the space of a single day you have destroyed what was left of the strength and courage of the Realm you once called home! A realm that at once trusted you and condemned you is now lying helpless before your feet. All of the realms will know of your infamy now! Your name will be spoken with fear! Men will flee from your presence! No amount of sorcery or status could ever give you this much power over your enemies."

There was a pause, and the fire seemed to dim, just slightly, in the Trickster's eyes. His jaw clenched tight, and the hands that gripped his helmet were white-knuckled and bleeding. His entire frame was quivering with suppressed energy – emotions the Trickster was struggling to contain. It seemed to Eldfell as if Narogk's influence had not completely worn off yet.

The Fire Demon seized his chance.

"Oh, surely this is not _remorse_ I see in your face?" he grinned. "After all, why should you care of the fates of the people of Asgard? It was they, after all, who shunned you from their midst. Was this not what you wanted – a chance to avenge yourself on them? Did you not wish to see the Alfather cower before you, weak and helpless, to know what it's like to have _nowhere left to hide?_"

He had expected an outburst of anger. Of indignation. Of anything that Eldfell could have used to inflame the Trickster further, to incite him to spend his last flicker of energy on attacking him. All Eldfell needed was that one final excuse –

He was not prepared for . . . nothing.

Loki suddenly stiffened. He ceased trembling. His fingers relaxed. His expression became unreadable. And the fire that had been blazing in his eyes suddenly iced over, hardening into something that no amount of taunting words could ever hope to ignite.

All trace of emotion was wiped from his countenance – nothing remained but cold indifference.

_Interesting._

"The Alfather is no stranger to such fear," he said quietly. "This war is far from over. But I, at least, have contributed to its end, to the end of Asgard itself – which is more than you can say for yourself."

A hissing laugh slipped from Eldfell.

"You might be surprised, Trickster," he growled.

Loki's eyes narrowed in confusion, and for one brief moment Eldfell hoped the ice would shatter. But he was disappointed.

"I grow tired of your useless chattering," the traitor said, hand waving at him dismissively. "Leave my sight this instant."

"Do not think you can rid yourself of me so easily, Odinson," Eldfell warned. "The time may come when we shall meet under . . . less than friendly terms."

A cold smile, bared teeth.

"I look forward to it."

And so Eldfell's chance slipped through his claws – he did not know why he was surprised. Loki was not one to lose his good sense so quickly. A formidable opponent indeed.

He would bide his time.

The God of Chaos could remain in control only for so long.

* * *

Loki watched the other leave, careful to keep his cold mask in place until the last of Eldfell's fire had disappeared from sight and sound.

Only then did he let the last of his reserves fade.

His helmet clattered to the floor as he sank down heavily against the burning stone.

Within moments the younger Odinson slipped into the welcoming arms of a deep, dreamless sleep.

But Narogk continued to flicker at his side.

* * *

Odin paced furiously across the empty room.

"Was this it? Was _this_ what you saw?" he demanded angrily.

Frigga left her face buried in her hands. Odin turned from her in frustration.

"Why? _Why_ did he do it? What purpose could it possibly serve? Does he despise me so much as to wish me to die in this way – I and all of Asgard with me?"

The Queen had no answers for her husband.

"Loki has betrayed everything he has ever claimed to love," Odin continued, almost to himself, as if Frigga's presence no longer mattered. "Does he realize what he has done? Can he even comprehend the devastation that will now ensue from his impulsive foolishness? The innocents of Asgard cannot possibly understand what the loss – " His voice caught in his throat briefly before he continued. "What the loss of the Tree will mean for this Realm."

"None but a few will know," Frigga said finally, raising her tear-streaked face towards her husband.

The anger left his gaze for a brief moment, and beneath it Frigga saw the recognition, the apprehension . . . the raw fear.

"Asgard has never known such a time since the rule of my father . . ." He took a deep breath, his eyes turning now towards the blackened sky outside his window. "The wrath of Muspelheim is now the least of our fears. A much more subtle enemy is now at work within the walls of this city."

Frigga knew this truth, this frightening event that was surely coming.

Odin had lived through such a time as Asgard would face in the days to come. She had not.

But she had foreseen it all.

* * *

When Loki finally came to himself, he was lying curled up on his side with his back to the stone wall of his personal hideaway. He wondered for one drowsy moment why his chest felt heavy, as if it hurt to breathe. Why his throat felt raw. Why he tasted the bitter metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Why his hands, resting at his sides, were blistered and throbbing. Why his heart was racing out of control.

Why he felt he had just escaped a nightmare.

He tried to sit up, to push himself away from the unforgiving ground beneath him, when his right hand brushed against something cold and smooth.

He glanced up, straining against protesting muscles, to see what he had just released.

Dazed, emerald eyes took in a long, sleek weapon . . .

Narogk.

The sword Surtur had given him just yesterday, the weapon the Trickster could use against anything and anyone he chose. The weapon Loki had used to –

_Oh gods . . . no . . ._

He had not escaped a nightmare.

_He had created one._

Loki only barely erected his shield in time to stifle the most despairing cry he had ever uttered. He flung Narogk as far from his body as he could.

It seemed to stare at him from the other side of the cave, condemning him, mocking him . . .

_The Tree was burning before his eyes._

"No . . ." he moaned, shutting his eyes, trying to block out the mocking voices –

_Screams . . . echoing in his mind, despairing cries . . . why had he done it?_

"No . . . Stop!" he pleaded, blistered fingers clutching his face.

The voices laughed louder.

_He had walked back through what was left of the garden . . . screams following his every footstep . . . the flames around him condemning him . . . laughing at him . . . reminding him . . ._

"Stop it! _Stop it!_" he screamed, curling into himself, trying to escape . . . escape the whispers –

_A true Prince of Asgard indeed . . . loyal to the end . . ._

"Leave me be!" He swatted at the air as if there was something there . . . as if he could physically banish his conscience –

_You could have turned back, _it hissed. _You had the chance . . . the chance to forgive . . . the chance to move on . . . the chance to do what was_ right!

"Go away . . .!" The voice of a child screamed from a body that curled into itself, that wished it could just wither away and end it all –

_Your selfishness . . . your rage . . . you were sworn to protect Asgard – not be the instrument of its destruction!_

"No . . . _no_ . . . _NO!_"

_The Alfather trusted you! Your mother trusted you! Thor trusted you! You trusted _yourself!_ You are monster! A demon of hatred and selfishness and pride . . . worse than Surtur himself! _You_ are the villain! _You_ are the enemy! You have just condemned thousands of innocents to death! This was _your fault!

Loki shut his eyes, trying to hold back the waves of guilt, the hot, angry tears he thought were dried up. But the guilt, like a ravenous wolf, tore into his heart, fiercely . . . relentlessly . . .

There was nothing for him to do but lie against the unfeeling stone, to wrestle with the wolf, force it back, back into its cage . . .

There was nothing he could do but _exist._

Finally - _finally_ - Loki pulled himself up, blistered palms scraping painfully against the rough stone. He pushed the pain aside as he stumbled to his feet. He pushed the grief and the guilt down - deep, deep down where he could hide it away from even himself – until it no longer left the bitter taste in his throat.

He ignored the stinging of his burned fingers and held himself up against the wall, gasped for the breath he had just found himself desperately needing. The wall was too warm, far too warm to be of any comfort.

_She had felt such burning in her passi-_

Burned fingers, blistered fists hit the stone again, and again.

_How could this have happened?!_

His knees failed him and he found himself falling again and howling curses blindly into the darkness.

_She promised she would always _be here_!_

She promised to always need him as much as he needed her. What cause had she to need anything he could give, now that she-

What use was his bond to her if she was gone?

All he wanted was to see her again, to hold her close again. To hear her voice: soft, gentle even when reprimanding him, or arguing that his latest scheme was worthy of only a fool. He longed for just one more glimpse of winter's sun and midnight sky . . .

He wanted to know there was still someone in this universe who could forgive him after everything he had done.

"Sigyn . . . Sigyn, I need you," he whispered.

The empty air greeted his plea.

"I can't . . . I can't do it, Sigyn," he gasped, feeling the storm rising inside him, knowing that it would need release . . . soon . . .

There was no answer.

"I can't do this anymore," he sobbed. "I can't go on . . . knowing . . . oh _gods!_"

_Just one glimpse of midnight – _

"You can't be gone! You can't leave me here!"

_– One last taste of her tears – _

"I can't live . . . I don't _want_ to live . . . not now! Not without you!"

_– One final embrace – _

"There's no one . . . no one to take me back! No one to . . . Sigyn . . . my Sigyn . . ."

_– That was all he asked._

He threw his head back and screamed.

Screamed until the stones cried out with him. Screamed until his throat bled. Screamed until his lungs pleaded for air . . .

Until he wished he would just _die . . ._

_With Sigyn gone, there was no point in living. _

_Only in death could he see her again . . ._

Then, so quietly it was nearly drowned by his thoughts of his wife, a voice whispered in his ear . . .

_"Father . . . you're not leaving, too . . . are you?"_

He gasped, held his breath. It was so real . . . so close . . .

_"Can I come with you . . .?"_

Vali . . .

His son . . .

How could he face his son after everything he had done? How could his son ever stand to look upon the man he called Father, knowing that he had, with one irrational choice, condemned him to die . . .

Loki refused to follow such thoughts. Losing his wife was enough to send him to the brink of darkness, but to lose his child - not to death but to disgust and hatred – would drive him far past places he could never come back from.

"Vali . . ." He raised his eyes, tear-stained and hopeless, to the emptiness above him. "Son . . . promise me . . . promise me you will never hate me for this . . . You're all I have left! I lost your mother . . . I can't lose you, too! Promise you – promise you'll forgive me . . . when you're old enough to understand . . . please don't hate me . . ."

* * *

Howard came bursting into the living room just as Tony and Pepper were heading to bed themselves.

"Mom! Mom!"

"Buddy, I thought I told you, you can't-" Tony began, but the frantic look in his son's eyes stopped his lecture. The boy was panting, pointing back down the hall towards his room.

"Mom! Come quick! It's Vali!"

Pepper's eyes widened in alarm, and she rushed passed both of them without another word. Tony was hot on her heels, Howard clutching his hand.

The sound of retching greeted them in the darkened room.

Pepper flipped the lights on immediately to reveal the young Asgardian boy lying across the bed trying hard not to be sick again. His face was so pale Tony could see almost every vein under his skin, and there were tears mixed with a cold sweat on his cheeks.

"Vali! Vali, what's wrong?" Pepper demanded, an arm supporting the boy's neck, the other holding the shaking hand extended toward her.

"Father . . ." came the feeble moan. "He's hurting . . . he needs –" Vali doubled over, clutching his stomach, gaging violently.

"Oh _Go-_ Tony! Call a doctor!" Pepper screamed.

The flimsy device was already out and open before his wife had even finished her sentence.

"Williams? It's Stark. Get your butt out of bed now and get up here . . . I don't care WHAT time it is! Get your sorry kiester up here NOW! One of the boys is sick! . . . Just hurry!"

By the time Tony shut his phone off Vali had relaxed again. Howard was in tears, demanding to know what was wrong with his friend, was he sick, was he going to be alright . . . Pepper finally had to let go of Vali's hand to console her own son.

"Tony, I'm going to take Howard out into the living room," she murmured, almost missed with Howard's frightened crying. "It won't help if he's is just as scared as Vali . . . it's only going to frighten him more."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Tony demanded, feeling lost and a little helpless. Consoling anybody was not his area of expertise, let alone someone else's kid . . .

"Just sit with him until the doctor comes. Please, Tony!" Pepper's eyes were wide and pleading. "He's just a boy . . . he needs someone with him."

Tony glanced back at the Asgardian boy, who was now sobbing and shaking so badly –

"Yeah. Ok, I'll stay with him until Williams comes."

Pepper scooped Howard up in her arms and carried him out of the room, trying to soothe him as Tony took a step forward and sat down on the bed next to Vali.

The instant he was at his side the boy clutched Tony's arm and pulled it close.

"Easy, kiddo, easy," Tony tried, patting the boy's shoulder, trying not to feel awkward.

"Father . . ." a muffled whimper cried. "Father . . . what's wrong? Why are you so sad . . .?"

Any words Tony would have said froze in his mouth. What was the kid -?

"What's wrong, Father?" Vali called again, his voice little more than weak gasps as his little lungs fought for air. "Why are you . . .? Can I help? Can I make it better? Why are . . . _why are you crying . . .?_"

* * *

"Idunn, there was nothing you could have done. You have no reason to blame yourself."

Eir's comforting words fell on deaf ears.

The younger Vanir woman lay upon the bed in the Healer's House, her normally vibrant spirit locked away beneath a shell of despondency and grief. She had not moved, had not eaten, had not spoken since she was brought by the Crown Prince. Bright eyes were dimmed, clouded by a vacant hollowness.

_It would have been better for her if he had just killed her . . ._

Idunn made no move to stop Eir as she removed the bloodstained bandages from her arm. The wound was not serious, but it was enough to force the Healers to keep the young woman under their care.

Eir gently cleaned the wound once more, then stretched out her hand over the cut –

"Leave it be," Idunn said at last, pushing her hand away.

"Idunn – "

"No. Rather save your strength and your magic for what is to come."

It was such an ominous plea – and so unlike anything Eir had ever heard the woman say before – that it sent an unwilling shiver of apprehension down her back.

"If you truly think such events shall occur once more in Asgard."

"They shall," Idunn quietly insisted. "It is only a matter of time . . . you do not understand the workings of the Tree like I do – _did_," she corrected sadly, despondency threatening to overwhelm her once more.

Eir laid a hand on her shoulder consolingly.

"My dear, you did all that you could to stop him. You were prepared to die to protect Asgard's hope and strength – you cannot be faulted for living."

"I should have reasoned with him . . . I should have spoken with him more," Idunn replied weakly. "I should have tried to understand . . ." She turned her face away sadly and fell silent.

"You cannot reason with a madman, Idunn," Eir snapped, perhaps more harshly than she meant it to sound.

"If he was mad, 'twas only with grief."

Eir frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"He . . . he spoke of . . . of _her_." Soft green eyes turned back to look into her own. "He knew of her sacrifice . . . he knew she had died protecting – Eir, if you had seen him then as I did, perhaps you would have been softened by his pain." Her eyes closed once more. "With my cousin welcomed into Valhalla, there is nothing left for him to care for."

Eir chose her next words carefully.

"Idunn . . . there is something I feel I must tell you . . ."


End file.
